


Get Gone

by orphan_account



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, I try my hand at accents, Jack's childhood will be explored, M/M, Mild Language, Rhys gets a taste of pandoran lifestyle, Slow Build, a poor attempt at regionalism, ham fisted symbolism, mentions of abuse, mild violence, rhack - Freeform, rich guys cope with being poor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6688786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helios crashes. Jack and Rhys manage to survive and try to find a new place in the world on Pandora. Jack takes them to a safe house which it turns out to be more significant to him than Rhys thought. </p><p>Basically Jack and Rhys being domestic and trying to build Atlas from the ground up. All of your favorite survival in the wasteland tropes are accounted for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who don't know this is a revised version of an old fic, so there will not normally be this much of it posted at one time. For those of you who enjoyed it the first time I hope this surpasses the other in your mind and I kindly request that you not send me messages comparing the two. This is not the old version, it is new, it is a separate entity.
> 
> As always follow my tumblr for updates: http://jackassofbass.tumblr.com/

Rhys looks into the rear view mirror of the old station wagon. It frames a scene straight out of bandit propaganda that makes his stomach churn quite a bit more in real life than it does on a poster. Helios erupts from the sand in so many massive pieces like a monument to some archaic, perverse deity. The sunset behind it casts a long, jagged shadow over the Pandoran sand, stretching its black fingers toward the car. Jack stares straight ahead, eyes on the road or the lack thereof. He glares at the wasteland just outside the windscreen with pure disgust like every grain of sand in the desert is conspiring against him. His brow furrows and his knuckles whitten from gripping the steering wheel so forcefully. If a man could fight a landscape, Jack would. At least Rhys thought so. The car goes over a bump causing a cacophonic ruckus as the mountain of luggage shifts, then the space goes painfully silent once more. After a time Rhys builds up the courage to disrupt it. 

“Where are we going?”

“Safe house.”

“Where is it?”

“Well it wouldn't be as safe if there was anything round to describe now would it?”

In the seemingly short time frame that Jack went from being a hologram in his head to his newly embodied co-president Rhys had learned that such an answer was Handsome Jack-ish for, “I'm not going to tell you.” Rhys didn't necessarily enjoy Jack being secretive, but if he didn't have to tell him something for whatever his convoluted reasons were he was always more comfortable, therefore Rhys was more comfortable. He’d learned long ago of the benefits of humouring Jack's idiosyncrasies.

Hours pass as the numbers on the odometer increase like the dust building up on the side of the car. Night begins to fall. Rhys watches the sand kicked up by the tires billow around in the vanishing desert sun. He does not think of anything, he no longer has the capacity to do so. Most of those miles pass in silence save for the radio in the background. Rhys figures it’s the longest time Jack has ever gone without talking. He catches him mouthing the lyrics to one song and can’t help but grin a little. When Jack notices him watching Rhys turns away. Jack’s face softens a bit. He rests a hand on Rhys’ shoulder. 

“You know what? I'm kinda glad this happened,” he muses. Rhys needs not ask why, the confusion on his face is enough. “Hear me out, princess. Maybe a fresh start is what we need. I mean it's kinda like a vacation if you think about it except, ya know, forever.” 

When Rhys doesn't respond Jack's right hand returns to the steering wheel, clearly dejected. He doesn't want to ignore Jack, but he honestly has no clue how to respond. He cannot fathom how Jack could see the most stressful situation he can possibly imagine as even somewhat akin to a vacation. 

“Guess I just kinda knew this would happen,” Jack remarks, “not gonna say I haven't toyed with destroying Hyperion myself a few times.”

“What? Why?!”

“Just gets boring after awhile. That's why I like you, kiddo. You're new. You surprise me.” Rhys hardly notices the pseudo compliment mixed in with Jack’s proclamation that he would essentially end the lives of thousands out of boredom. Strangely, he is more astounded by his own placidness on the subject than the essence of it. He stares out the window again, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. It soothes his headache just the tiniest bit. They drive past a particularly large boulder. It isn't of much interest and in the darkness it looks like a big black lump, but Rhys feels grateful for it nonetheless as it is the only geographical feature other than sand he's seen in hours. When it finally hits Rhys about how late it’s getting he tells himself that he should stay alert. He could never be sure what Jack intends for him. For all he knows Jack might just be driving for such a long time because he’s waiting for him to fall asleep so he can dump him in the wilderness like a box full of puppies. He ends up sleeping after all. Rhys really doesn't know who to trust anymore anyway, and he could see no benefit in trying to escape. On one hand he stays with Jack and  _ maybe _ gets abandoned in the desert, on the other he manages to escape and is certainly stranded. He tries to remain awake, but much like Helios ends up in a dramatic dead heap of himself. 

* * *

****

Rhys’ head throbs violently. Somehow it collided with the armrest and he had been shocked awake which he finds strange since he's quite certain he fell asleep leaning towards the window. It's still dark outside, the station wagon has finally stopped, the door opposite of him is open and no one is sitting beside him.  Rhys lets out a sigh of relief when he sees Jack pass in front of the headlights. Rhys climbs out of the seat slowly. He stretches his stiff, achy limbs. “Jack?” He grumbles groggily. “Where are we?” 

“Oh look, sleeping beauty is awake.” Jack jokes, opening the hatch. 

Rhys yawns. “Hey, you get to be a king, but I can't be a princess?” That's not fair.”

Jack cracks as much of a smile as a man whose entire world has literally crashed can. “Come help me carry some of this shit then, Your Majesty,” he says with what could barely be classified as a laugh.. 

When all's said and done Rhys ends up carrying about eighty percent of the luggage. He’s sure Jack’s made him carry it for revenge since he had all but one or two bags when they left. He didn't know how Jack managed to keep it intact while also maneuvering around the debris back on Helios. By the time they set foot on the steps of the porch Rhys is about ready to collapse. Seeing his knees shake, Jack has a rare moment of mercy and takes enough away for Rhys to be able to stand up straight again. He can’t figure out why Jack is as strong as he is. He has never seen him exercise and he hardly lifts a finger at work. Jack had mentioned being muscular before and Rhys had just assumed he was telling the truth without evidence, now he’d seen it for himself. Rhys peers over the stack of supplies in his arms to look at the house in front of him. He can’t see much of it, but from what he can make out in the headlights he notices that being in the middle of the desert has done a number on it. The small building is comprised of worn brown clapboard that hints at where green paint used to be. The shingles on the roof look like they could collapse any second, the windows are clouded with dust, and the deck boards squeak. Jack returns a few bags to Rhys so he can get the key from his pocket. Rhys realizes that he almost doesn’t remember what an actual key looks like since everything on Helios was secured with some sort of biometrics or a keycard. Sometimes he would forget there was a world outside of the former space station.  

The door creaks open, revealing the drastically different insides. In contrast with the vaguely log cabin style of the exterior, the space inside is contemporary. It shares the size of the place he used to have with Vaughn, furnished somewhere between modern decor and the self-assemble furniture Vaughn adored so. Even the door frame points to some sort of renovation with its various lines and length marks as if the board was never painted over after it was measured. Rhys extrapolates this impression from what little of the house he can see which for the time being is limited to an old fashioned kitchen and a breakfast nook. Jack walks halfway up the staircase and beckons for him to follow. 

“You can put that stuff down now,” Jack tells him.

Rhys lets the baggage drop to the old wooden floor with a huff.

“Help me put this away.”

Too tired to argue, Rhys obediently begins opening bags. Jack slides aside a wooden panel in the wall to reveal a wealth of shelves and coat racks. They spend what feels like an hour folding, and hanging, and stacking. It reminds Rhys of opening presents on his birthday. Each bag contains a surprise be it clothes for Jack, clothes for him, guns, food, or even cold hard cash. Jack seems to have thought of everything.

“How ya’ holdin’ up, kitten?” Jack asks when they’re finally finished.

“Tired,” Rhys replies.

“Bet you’d like to col lapse in that bed over there.”

Looking at the mattress only makes his eyelids heavier. He yawns. 

“So where am I gonna sleep anyway?” 

“I just told you.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“With you?”

“Well, didya see another room on the way up here?”

“No.”

“Then where did you think you were going to sleep?”.

“I dunno, the couch.”

Jack gives him a firm whack on the back that throws his balance off a bit. “Seriously?” He chuckles. “You're gonna sleep on the sofa for the foreseeable future because you're an awkward fanboy?”

“No!” Rhys protests, but the blush on his face betrays him.

Jack's still laughing at him. “Alright kiddo, whatever! Although I might make you sleep downstairs anyway cause you smell like a dead skagg! You saw where I put the soap and stuff. Go take a shower, maybe you'll feel less shitty.”

* * *

****

Jack was right. Being clean did leave Rhys considerably refreshed. When he returns upstairs the lights are off and the bed is covered with fresh sheets. He reckons Jack is already asleep. Anyone would be exhausted from the day they are both having, plus he had to drive for all that time. Rhys spots a pillow waiting for him. He fights the temptation to just collapse so that he won't wake Jack. Something tells Rhys that he probably doesn't take kindly to being jostled; although, the mattress is so large he probably wouldn't even feel it if Rhys was jumping on it. Rhys shuffles under the sheets awkwardly like he’s sharing a bed with a lion. Rhys tries to minimize his breathing. A sleeping lion can certainly ward off danger, but it can just as easily be the danger. Vaughn and Yvette would have a field day if they knew about this. Rhys could practically hear their phantom voices teasing him. How he longed for their mockery. Now he didn’t know if he would ever see them again. Hell, he didn’t even know if they were alive. Maybe no one he knew was. 

“Don’t think about it, Rhys.”

Rhys flinches.  _ How did he? _

“You’re tense.” 

“I-”

“Don’t think about it, that’s how it gets you. That’s how it changes you.”

“Jack-”

“Shhhhhhh.” 

Rhys forces his eyes shut. Maybe it’s for the best. 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack makes "breakfast." Rhys makes a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is loaded.

The sunlight fries Rhys like an egg the next morning, much to his dismay, at least what little of it that leaks through the streaky windows. After a failed attempt to lie comfortably on his stomach he begrudgingly trudges downstairs. The wooden boards squeak as he pads across the kitchen floor. The chair he pulls out from the table shrieks. Despite all the racket Jack doesn't acknowledge him. He reaches out feebly for a coffee pot situated in the middle of the table like an island and just barely grabs it. He pours himself a cupful and takes a huge gulp, sighing loudly as the drink warms his bones. Jack still doesn't even bother to throw a glance his way, fixated instead on stirring something over the stove. Rhys can't help but notice that he's hardly wearing anything really except for a bright yellow Hyperion t shirt and blue striped boxer shorts. Rhys finds seeing Jack in something that doesn't distort the shape of his body very strange in contrast with his usual multitude of layers. He doesn't know it, but Jack considers his unstyled hair equally disturbing. He could never guess how hard Jack was straining his good eye to catch a glimpse of his hair hanging down in his face without indiscreetly turning around. Finally, after several minutes of wondering what he's doing, Rhys watches Jack carry the pot over to the table.

“What's that?”

“Oatmeal,” Jack grunts. “Want some?”

Rhys eagerly takes the spoonful offered to him, but soon regrets it. He whinces as the moist bland concoction creeps down his throat.

“The hell was that?” he asks once he chokes it all down. 

“Oatmeal,” Jack replies impassively.

“With nothing in it?”

“Well shit, pumpkin. Sorry I forgot to pack the fresh garden blueberries and cinnamon sticks in the fall out gear I hastily threw together when I was trying to flee for my life. My bad. Next time I'll bring the hollandaise sauce and quail eggs.” 

They glare at each other for a solid few seconds. Rhys considers flipping him off, but Jack beats him to it. 

“We’re going into town today for more supplies. You need to start thinking about who you want to be for the rest of your life because you sure as hell can’t be Rhys, not outside. If you aren’t going to eat, get dressed. Leave your hair down, and no Hyperion merch. Got it?”

Rhys opens his mouth to protest, but Jack’s scowl makes him think better of it.

He wanders off to do as he is told, reluctantly leaving his hair ungelled and being careful not to wear anything that bears the symbol of the fallen empire.  He barely recognizes himself in the mirror. Rhys the inconspicuous Pandoran looks much different from Rhys the company man. Jack shouts for him to grab some cash from the closet which he does before meeting him at the door. Jack the man who makes shitty oatmeal and wishes he’d packed more socks looks much different from Handsome Jack. He wears an ordinary pair of jeans and only a brown leather jacket over a wife beater. He lacks not only his many clothing layers, but also the one that hides his face. Rhys tries not to flinch when his eyes are met by a pure white sclera evaluating him likewise.

“What?”

Rhys hadn’t noticed he was staring. His eyes dart away from the upside down V  branded into Jack’s face. Unlike the rest of his skin the area surrounding the unnatural blue scar is pale and rough looking. 

“N-nothing.”

“Okay, spit it out.’

“What?”

“Don’t play stupid, Rhys.”

“Fine, it’s just your face is so…’

Jack glares at him threateningly. 

“Well, handsome.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t expect Handsome Jack to actually be handsome, but you’re actually…  I mean... I’m going to shut up now.” 

Rhys hides his face in his hands and waits for the ridicule but it never comes. Did Jack black out? No, his eyes are open. For a second even the clouded over one shines with a faint brightness that belongs to a much younger man. Without another word he urges Rhys out onto the cracked and faded porch, muttering something to himself.

* * *

The invisible road they follow ends in a little town scattered in the sand as though it fell through a hole in someone’s pocket. It must be the only civilization for miles, and Rhys doesn’t remember seeing it the previous night. Jack’s intuition astounds him sometimes. They pull into a gravel lot behind a small brick building. Rhys gets ready to open the door, but Jack stops his hand.

“You got your gun?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Do you, do you think I’ll need it?”

“Don’t forget where we are.”

“Jack, I don’t know if I can-”

“You’ll do fine. I taught you after all.”

Rhys remembers the day he got that gun. Jack insisted that he carry it as soon as he became the head of Hyperion. 

He could still see Jack handing the shiny new pistol to him clear as day.

_ “You're going to have to shoot it sometime,” he growled.  _

_ “Right now?” _

_ “Yes. Now.” _

_ “But-” _

_ “Dammit, kiddo! It's not like I'm gonna ask you to kill somebody. I just want you to stay safe so I don't have to waste my time watching your ass. Got it?” _

_ Rhys nodded. He stood up unsteadily and took the weapon from Jack's hand. _

_ “It’s already locked and loaded, sweetheart. All you gotta do is shoot that can and it's yours,” Jack reassured him. _

_ “That's all, huh?” _

_ “Yup, that's all.’ _

Rhys remembers how his hands shook.

_ “Well, that's easy for you to say, but I uh… I haven't exactly- I haven't exactly done this before…” _

_ “Really?” Jack asked, completely deadpan. _

_ “Y-yeah.” Rhys shuffled his feet nervously. _

Rhys will never forget how Jack dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with just a hint of annoyance, not caring about the carpet of his own office.  _ He walked around to the other side of Rhys who heard him grumbling something along the lines of, “friggin idiot… works at a gun manufacturer… seven years… hasn't even.” Standing behind Rhys, Jack used his own foot to kick his apart.  _

_ “Widen your stance,” he snapped. Jack stood so close Rhys could feel his breath on the back of his neck. “Now stand up straight, little more, nope, no. Dammit, Rhys!” Then Jack grabbed him around his abdomen, abruptly pulling him flush against his chest. Rhys stumbled forward quickly and came crashing to the ground.  _

_ “Shit!” Jack cursed. “What the hell was that about?” _

_ “I- I can't do it,” Rhys stutterd. With trembling hands he tried to give Jack the pistol. _

_ “Oh, for crying out loud… Stand up!” Jack spat. Rhys scrambled to his feet. “Nothing is gonna happen to you! That's why you gotta do this, so it stays that way.” _

Rhys had almost cried that day.

_ “Hey, no, don't cry. Rhys! Rhys, remember the other day when I took your arm off? Why'd you let me do that?” _

_ “Because you tricked me.” _

_ “Yeah, but why was I able to do that?” _

_ “Because I trusted you…” _

_ “And you’re the president of this company now. Why's that?” _

_ “Because I trusted you…” _

_ “And have I ever steered you wrong?” _

_ “No.” _

_ “So come here!”  _

_ Rhys repositioned himself in front of Jack, back straight, knees apart. “Good,” Jack purred, wrapping an arm around him, rather than yanking him backwards. “Relax your arms…” _

Rhys shivers at just the memory of Jack's words on the nape of his neck and his chest vibrating as he spoke; the scent of smoke on his breath. He can still imagine Jack's fingers curled around his wrist to steady his hand.

“ _ Now,” he said calmly, “one eye open. No not that one, the real one. What if something happens to that stupid thing? Then what? No cheating. Okay, look between the ridges on the end. Does it look lined up?” Rhys nodded. “Alright. I want you take a deep breath, and then just let ‘er rip.” Rhys closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. For a brief moment there was no gun only himself, and Jack holding him in place like a wire stand wrapped around a porcelain doll. Then there was a loud pop followed by a clang and the jar shattered.  _

The last thing Rhys remembers is standing frozen in place ridiculously close to Jack, kind of like he is now at the entrance of the store. Jack suggests that they split up the shopping list, but Rhys prefers to follow close. The people of Pandora aren’t exactly the biggest fans of the men formerly known as President Rhys and Handsome Goddamn Jack. Rhys doubts anyone recognizes them, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful. When everything is finally gathered he makes a special request. 

“I didn’t see any peanut butter. Do you think they have it?”

“Aisle five.”

“You did not memorize that already. There’s no way.”

“You’re right. I read the sign.”

Rhys scans the entire room, but finds not a single aisle marker. With some amount of disbelief he strolls to the end of the fifth aisle. Sure enough he finds exactly what he wanted. He takes a couple of jars from the shelf and compares the prices. He’s sure that even Jack’s emergency cash is enough for price to be a non-issue, but it’s a force of habit from his days in middle management. Suddenly, the clatter of glass crashes behind him. He turns to see a little girl standing in a pool of jelly jars. Somehow none of it splattered onto her jacket or the yellow jumper underneath. Her umber hair and caramel skin go unscathed. She looks at him for a moment with one good eye. It feels as though even the one covered by a patch is assessing him. She turns back to the shelf behind her. She stands on her tiptoes, stretching for a jar of strawberry jam a few shelves up. She wrinkles her freckled nose with effort. Rhys reaches it for her, but doesn't exactly receive the thanks he’d hope for. Instead he stumbles back a few steps when the girl body checks him in the legs. He barely manages to keep a grip on the jar. 

“Hey, that's mine! I saw it first!” She raises a small, chubby fist at him.

“Easy there, I'm just trying to help.”

“That don't make no diff rinse,” she replies, jumping with all her might to reach the jar in his hand.

“You should learn to take help when you get it.”

“Grammy says iffen ye want somethin ye gotta get et yerself.” 

“You could get help yourself.”

“T-ain’t like that, mister. I’m gonna be tall like ye one uh these days.”

“Is that so?”

“Grammy, measured me th’other day. Says I’m shootin up like a weed.”

“She sounds like a smart lady.”

“Sure is. I gotta get her this jam, ye see?”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to give it to you then.”

“Good.’

“What’s the magic word?”

She folds her arms and pouts. 

“Please.”

“Here you go.”

The girl scampers off around the corner. Rhys goes to meet Jack at the checkout.

“What took you so long?” Jack asks.

“I got in sort of a skirmish over the peanut butter.”

“Well did ya get it?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I always say if you want something you gotta get it yourself. What’s so funny?”

“Nothing."

* * *

 

That evening it becomes clear to Rhys that Jack’s culinary skills were not accurately represented by the oatmeal from breakfast, if it could be called that. His full stomach tells him so. 

“Where did you learn to cook like that?” he asks, putting his plate in the sink.

“At home.”

“Your mom?”

“Shit, Rhys. That woman didn’t even teach me to tie my shoes.” 

Jack’s cutting glare warns him not to pursue the subject further. Rhys decides to go upstairs and put on something more comfortable while the tension dissolves, something with more room for distention. He slips into a t-shirt and some sweats before returning downstairs to an empty kitchen and an open door. 

Jack’s silhouette looms in the doorway like a spirit surveying the desert for others of its kind that might want to impede on its haunt. Rhys isn’t sure if he knows he is watching him or not. Jack turns to the side. For a minute he seems to be looking at the floor, then he reaches down and places his hand on the lower corner of the door frame. Rhys registers where his gaze actually falls. His fingers glide over the narrow piece of wood, ascending to a halt about shoulder high where they linger for a moment. His thumb strokes over that spot once, twice and his hand falls to his side. Rhys realizes that the door is not what those marks he saw measure. Jack didn’t find that town on instinct, and there really were no aisle markers. He doesn’t approach until Jack takes a seat on the porch. 

“You must have drank a lot of milk between now and age thirteen.” he remarks.

“Guess you figured me out,” Jack says.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jack doesn't answer.

“Please tell me.”

“Don’t have anything to tell.”

“I don’t mind.”

“There ain’t much respect for humble beginnings out there anymore.”

“Yeah well, there aren’t many people out there like you anymore. Hyperion was just one big drawer of silver spoons.”

Jack nods in agreement. “All those damn R and D nerds with their PhD thinking they’re gonna invent the wheel. That’s why I picked you. You work hard, kiddo. I can tell.” He glances over his shoulder. “And maybe you didn’t have to get there from  _ this _ , but…”

Rhys rests his chin in his hands. “Now we’re both here,” he sighs.

“We aren’t supposed to be,” Jack grumbles.

“How are we going to get back?”

Jack ignores the question.

The boards under them creak at Rhys’ newly distributed weight. 

“Do you ever worry that this old deck is gonna collapse one day?”

“Nah. It looks kinda old and unstable, but it has more structural integrity than you think.”

Rhys smiles softly. “I’m sure it does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, she will be a recurring character.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack goes somewhere. Then he comes back, sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the god of summaries.

Jack values the night. Its thick cloak serves as a better mask than his old one ever did. Rhys can’t catch his hero with his humanity showing. He can’t see the worried creases around his mouth or the wisdomless grey streaks in his hair.. Better yet Jack can't see him. Darkness veils all concerned eyes and cautiously optimistic smiles. Even so, a part of Jack knows they still remain; a part of him that tells him he needs to run as far away as he can, He clambers away from the stranger Rhys attracts, a lesser side of himself that he refuses to make the acquaintance of. His feet find the way to the door. There he stands on the edge of the fray. He walks due West at the first sight sunlight.

* * *

By noontime Jack returns from his early morning hike. He receives a rather enthusiastic greeting at the door. 

“You're back!” Rhys almost drops a hot mug of coffee on himself. “I mean- oh, you're back… Wait. Shit, just laugh at me now and get it over with…” Did Rhys think he abandoned him? Jack thinks he detects some surprise in his voice, yet he can't refuse an invitation like that. 

“Did someone miss me?” He teases. “That's adorable.” 

“Jack… Are you okay? You look kinda pale... Holy crap, your arm!” 

Jack stares blankly at the large bleeding wound on his bicep. To think he'd almost forgotten, not like it's his greatest concern. 

“And that is why you don't ever go out when it's dark! Got it? Good. So while I was out there I saw this warehouse and-” 

“Woah, hold on. We’re just gonna act like you don't have a huge gash on your arm?”

“Rhysie, babe, it's no big deal.”

Rhys just glares at him.

“Are you seriously trying to play this off right now?”

“I- “ Jack wouldn't exactly call it “playing it off.”

“Jack, go sit on the couch.”

“But-”

“Now!”

The shock of Rhys’ sudden commanding tone doesn't really leave him much of a choice, so he does as he's told out of curiosity really. He hears the sink running in the bathroom. Soon Rhys emerges with a first aid kit and a wad of wet rags. He pauses for a moment and cranes his neck, searching for the best angle to work at presumably. 

“Something the matter, Rhysie?”

“Yeah, there's just no good way to get at this is there?”

“Well it was worth a shot.” Jack starts to stand up, but Rhys pins him down almost immediately.

“Where you goin?” Rhys asks with fake naïveté  as he straddles Jack's lap a little over confidently. Jack would like to believe he finds it annoying, but honestly he could stand up any second if he really wanted to. Despite his height, Rhys’ thin, boney self doesn't weigh much more than the average woman. Hell, he apparently had to use his entire body weight just to knock Jack over. Jack lets out an amused laugh.

“You know, princess. I understand if you're trying to get revenge for our little… let's call it target practice but I’m sure I was at least a little more subtle.” 

Rhys freezes for a moment. His cheeks turn pink and he quickly looks away. “Just shut up and give me your arm,” he grumbles. He rolls up Jack's sleeve gently with his fingertips, careful to avoid the blood soaked fabric. The fresh air hitting his injury is heavenly to Jack. 

“Gosh, what did this? Your shirt’s all ripped. Is this like a scratch or something? What did this?” Rhys mutters half to Jack and half to himself. “Was it an animal? Please tell me it was an animal.” 

“No. It was the mysterious claw man that roams the desert at night, waiting to attack handsome guys named Jack.” 

“Jack, I'm serious!”

“Of course it was an animal! There aren't any bandits this far away from civilization. Who would they steal supplies from?”

“Well damn, Jack. I don't know… Oh wait!  _ You! _ ”

Jack opens his mouth to retaliate, but bites his lip instead when Rhys places a wet cloth on his arm. 

“What was it?” Rhys asks again, lightly dabbing the scratch. 

“I dunno.”

“What do you mean you don't know?”

“I mean I dunno.”

“I'm not buying it.”

“It was dark, I didn't see it.”

“So it just attacked you and then disappeared?”

“I dunno.”

Rhys shoots a cold glance at him as he picks up a clean rag and soaks it in hydrogen peroxide out of a little brown bottle. Jack hisses when he rubs it on his arm. “Why don't you want to tell me about what happened?” Rhys asks. Jack ignores his question entirely.

Jack scoffs. “You know you don't have to do any of this.”

“You're right. I don't. So aren't you lucky? Now stop moving.” 

“So why are you doing it?”

Rhys gets caught off guard. “Because… I don’t know. Just shut up and be glad I’m doing it.”

“Sheesh, gettin a little feisty there, nurse.”

“I’m just stating a fact, and don't call me nurse.”

Rhys snips the bandages he has been wrapping around Jack’s arm with a small pair of scissors, gathers his equipment, and goes to put them away. 

“Whatever you say, nurse,” he hears behind his back. Rhys walks faster. “Aw, don't be that way. Don't you want to hear about Atlas?” Rhys stops.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quest to revive Atlas starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this breaks your hearts.

Rhys had forgotten that Jack was the technical owner of the Atlas Corporation, so a revival of the company seemed like a pretty airtight plan when Jack brought it up. He’d reminded Jack of the absurdity of him of all people being in charge of Atlas, but Jack assured him that Hyperion by any other name would smell just as sweet. Pretty soon Rhys has other doubts about resources, about how Jack plans to use the company’s abandoned infrastructure to rebuild it from the ground, about how he expects it to become profitable again. Naturally Jack refuses to address these questions or any about where he runs off to in the morning, or where the injuries he returns with come from. 

Nearly a week passes before Jack finally takes Rhys to the center of operations. Rhys cringes at the harsh metallic screech of the doors on the rusty old warehouse as Jack slides them open. They are plastered with the red logo of the Atlas Corporation which has long since faded to a burnt orange color. 

“Woah,” his voice echos in the almost empty, dusty building as sunlight gradually pours in. He wanders thoughtlessly into the middle of the room, gazing up toward the aluminum ceiling at its many hanging wires and cables. Jack flips a switch and the dormant lights flicker on.

“Shit,” he curses when the old fixture gives him a bit of a shock, sticking his poor finger in his mouth. 

“So whaddya think, Rhysie? Pretty neat right?”

“It’s huge! I wonder why they just left it here. It could have made a nice facility.”

“Yeah, I dunno. Probably cause it’s out in the middle of freakin nowhere; well, every place on this shithole planet is the middle of nowhere, but eh. You get what I mean.”

‘“There’s gotta be a reason though right?”

“Who knows. It’s Atlas we’re talking about here so it could be completely asinine.  _ On the other hand…  _ they might have been doing some pretty secret shit out here.” 

“What do you think it was?’’

“No clue, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize something else about this place.”

“What?”

“It’s dusty as shit! Fix it.”

“How?”

“With a broom, smart one.”

“You want me to sweep this? Like, the whole thing?”

“Did I stutter?”

Rhys grumbles and marches off the car to retrieve the broom. Jack wonders how long it will take for Rhys to realize that he technically isn't in charge of him anymore.

* * *

Jack decides that making Rhys sweep is one of his better ideas. It is easier to enjoy when you aren’t the one doing it. The gradual unveiling of the floor is satisfying, and although Rhys gives him a resentful look every time he glances in his direction he doesn’t worry about it too much. What does worry him is where his mind eventually goes every time he looks over at Rhys, and how his fingers end up hovering over his arm. Being a man not well versed in the art of feelings, he still can't figure out why Rhys was hell bent on fixing his wound. He didn't have much of a reason to do anything for Jack anymore, no longer his boss or his ticket to the top. 

Rhys finds sweeping to be a much less pleasurable experience than Jack does. As the afternoon goes on he thinks he can actually feel his vertebrae disintegrating from picking up the dust pan. He only receives a break from the mundane task when he occasionally watches Jack for two or three seconds as he rummages through old storage crates across the room to find salvageable parts. Sometimes when he looks he'll catch Jack blatantly staring at his ass in a usual bout of inane flirting which he could get mad at him for. That would be hypocritical though since there's something about Jack that  _ he  _ can't help but notice. It's that damn strength again that makes Rhys weak in the knees. After living with Jack for almost two weeks now, Rhys has seen him shirtless quite a few times, basically everyday. Jack doesn't actually seem as strong as he is, he really doesn't. Not that he's terrible to look at though. The way he throws huge pieces of scrap metal aside, makes Rhys wonder what it'd be like if Jack picked him up. Would he weigh anything at all? That might be convenient for certain…  _ activities _ ...  That's when Rhys’ brain flashes a red light and he has to return to sweeping, scolding himself under his breath for thinking such thoughts. He refuses to let Jack’s inane flirting get a rise from him. The very idea of getting close to Jack in a physical or emotional sense was ridiculous; Jack, who nearly killed a man for bumping shoulders with him, who was always trying to comfort him with backhanded compliments, who could not grasp the concept of basic compassion, and dragged him to the godforsaken  _ hellhole.  _

Rhys sweeps the floors with a new, dogged, spiteful determination. That would show Jack not to do… something. Gradually, his efforts reveal the dark slate floor that he never would have guessed was hidden under the blanket of dust and sand. He has only one more corner left; however, this time when the bristles slide across the ground they unveil a faded blue color rather than the usual grey. Rhys picks up the piece of paper and shakes the sand off followed by a few puffs of air and a little more shaking. The harsh clatter the broom makes when he drops it reverberates in the vast warehouse. 

“Jack? I think you need to look at this!” 

“Are you sure? Kinda got my hands full here!”

“Yeah, you definitely want to see this.”

Eventually, Jack marches over to Rhys and snatches the paper right out of his hands. 

“This had better be import- Holy shit!”

“I guess you were right, they were working on something secret.”

“First of all, when am I not right? And second this is fucking amazing!” Rhys can see Jack's hands trembling, consequently the blueprint he holds moves with them and it quivers with such rapidity that Rhys can barely read  _ THE G.O.R.T.Y.S. PROJECT  _ sprawled in white Arial lettering across the top. 

“Did you just find this? Do you know what I can do with this?” Jack grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him vigorously. His good eye sparkles like a child's on Christmas morning. 

“Yeah I do and will you stop shaking me?!”

Surprisingly enough Jack actually listens to him, but he still doesn't take his hands away from his shoulders. Rhys suddenly realizes how close they're standing; the toes of his shoes almost brush against Jack's. 

“Oh, Rhysie,”  Jack's voice is low and the wonderment in his eyes is replaced with something else. “Rhysie, sweetheart, baby boy, you're so good to me aren't you?” He asks, giving Rhys a sly grin. Rhys isn't entirely sure if he's supposed to answer. He tries to remember how frustrated Jack makes him while his mind chants  _ ‘don't look at his lips, don't look at his lips, dammit.’  _ Jack seems to know what he's thinking. His tongue glides across the corner of his mouth for just a second. Then his eyes change again. His pupil shrinks at a shocking rate and his eyelids lurch open wide. Rhys actually gets to experience what being carried is like, but not in the way he imagined when Jack quickly throws him over his shoulder, and all but slam dunks him behind some crates in the corner of the warehouse.

“Jack! What the?”

One of Jack's hands roughly smothers his mouth while the other pulls him firmly into his chest. He can feel the quickening pulse in Jack's wrist as he glares daggers at the door. When the blood stops rushing in his ears Rhys finally hears the cause of the commotion. 

“Well, look who's back!” hollers a screechy voice.

          “Just don't quit does he?” another laughs. 

Immediately Rhys’ gaze shifts from the closed door to Jack's arm. He sends Jack a glare which he hopes says, “you fucking lied to me, you bastard.” Jack doesn't see it though, his attention is still set on the door. His arm releases Rhys’ mid section so he can grab his gun, and it's a good thing he didn't use his other hand because Rhys has some choice words for him. What did Jack think he was doing acting like some sort of white knight after knowingly bringing him to a dangerous place? He still won't look at him, and god does Rhys really not want his hands on him right now. He tries to pry Jack's hand off of his mouth, but ends up having to take the five year old approach and bites him. Jack clearly holds back a yelp and finally looks at Rhys long enough to dole out a light slap on the face, as if he were punishing a dog. It doesn't really hurt, but it covers Rhys’ cheek with his own slobber. He glares furiously at Jack once more, but is again completely ignored as Jack's attention is stolen by the clamorous shriek of the doors being opened. Rhys can't see what's going on, but he hears the clicking of footsteps approaching, probably tracking up his clean floor.

“Playing hide n seek, are you?” says one of the voices. Rhys could swear he recognizes that shrill voice.

The other bandit laughs in response.

“Come out, come out wherever you are, scarface.”

Jack  _ hates _ the bandit for saying that, as if he didn't already. The overt reference to his scar would make it impossible for him to convince Rhys that they weren't the source of his injury.

Obviously, they are found behind the only potential hiding spot in the whole building. 

“There you are!” the screechy one exclaims.

Jack does not appreciate the way the other one is looking at Rhys, not that he can see his eyes past the cloak both strangers are shrouded in.

“I thought I told you to quit hanging around here.”

Jack bares his teeth. He wishes he could at least see these idiots’ faces.

“Not going to say anything to me? Not gonna curse and spit? You’ve mellowed out some!” 

Rhys is more confused and pissed off than ever. Did Jack  _ know  _ these people?

The bandit cackles. The man’s voice grates on Rhys like crazy. To his credit he sounds a mite more educated than Rhys typically expects from bandits, but something about his tone of voice sets off a primordial rage in Rhys much like how even the sound of an alarm clock on television triggers such anger and bodily cringing.  

“Weeeellll, would you look here!” The more talkative bandit points Rhys out to the other who wolf whistles obnoxiously. Rhys frowns indignantly. “You didn’t tell me you had a lady friend.” He yanks Rhys up from the ground and holds his hands harshly behind his back like hand cuffs. Rhys isn't sure but he thinks the guy sniffs him before giving him a surprisingly clean toothy grin. Rhys struggles for a bit, but his efforts are useless. His kidnapper squeezes his hand so tightly his fingers are on the verge of breaking. Rhys yelps, it isn't just incoherent nonsense though, it's Jack's name.

“So that’s your name. You look angry. You afraid I'm gonna hurt your little boyfriend, Johnny?”

Rhys can't help but let his jaw drop a bit, wondering why Jack is just taking this lying down. Here are these two lowlifes saying things that no God fearing man on Helios would even dare imagine, and he doesn't even do as much as say a word. These bandits clearly have no idea with whom they are messing with or what sort of things he has been doing to their kind for twenty and some odd years. Jack will snap eventually. Rhys knows  _ it _ just hasn’t happened yet, something that will send Jack over the edge.

“Still not gonna say anything? Can you believe the lack of manners?” The quieter of the two shakes his head. Then the screechy one says something Rhys knows he will come to regret the second it leaves his mouth.

 

_ “Well, that’s what happens when you aren’t raised right.” _

Jack's expression goes feral. He cocks the gun he’s been aiming for a good five minutes. 

“What the fuck do you know about my upbringing you fricken shit stain!?”

_ Now they’ve done it.  _

“Do you plan to shoot me with that?”

“That's a promise,” Jack growls.

_ There it is. _

“No, I don't think you will,” the bandit replies. 

Just like that Rhys has a gun digging at the side of his temple, a Hyperion model no less.

“Now. Are you gonna put the gun down gently or am I going to have to take it from you?”

Jack slowly crouches and sets the gun down on the floor, still glowering at the bandit. Rhys is surprised Jack didn't just tell them to go ahead and shoot him.

“Empty your pockets!” 

“Then you’re gonna let him go?”

“Eh, why not?”

The bandit’s order gives way to a flow of cash and guns from increasingly improbable locations. Rhys can't believe what he's seeing, Handsome Jack getting held up by two average bandits, something isn't right. He isn't even putting up a fight. Jack acrimoniously throws a final pack of cigarettes to the ground.

“Now let him go.”

“Give me your car keys!”

Jack grumbles and tosses the keys onto the pile. 

“Hand him over. Now,” Jack sneers.

“Hmmmmm. Actually, I think I’ll blow his brains out anyway. You can watch if you want!”

When Jack goes for the gun on the floor another quickly aims at him. Rhys’ eyes plead to him silently, searching him for any evidence of a plan. All Jack gives him is an expression so helpless Rhys almost wishes he was already dead so he couldn't have seen it.  _ No,  _ he tells himself.  _ Jack has a plan, Jack always has a plan.  _ The pistol near his head clicks in his ear. JACK DOES NOT HAVE A PLAN.  Rhys clamps his eyes shut as tightly as he can. This is how he’s gonna die, yep.

“Wait!”

Rhys opens one eye when Jack shouts.

“What now?”

“Can I… can I say goodbye?”

The bandit glares suspiciously, so does Rhys.

“I mean if you’re really gonna kill him- I… Please,” his voice cracks. 

“Make it quick.”

Jack slowly steps over to him. 

“Rhysie…”

“Jack,” Rhys whimpers. “Jack, please don't let this happen.” He can feel a lump forming in his throat.

“I can't.”

“You, y-you you gotta!” Rhys stammers frantically.

“I'm sorry,” Jack whispers. 

Hot tears start to roll down Rhys’ cheek. Jack sandwiches his face between his hands and brushes them away with a thumb

“Shhhhhh...”

Rhys' sobs get even louder.

Jack presses their foreheads together and hushes him. His breath warms Rhys’ face, much less sporadic than before. Entranced by the proximity Rhys barely even notices the two gunshots that go off, only the sound of Jack's loud twisted laughter, dazed by the two newly dead bodies at his feet. He notices the weight missing from hip as Jack waves it in the air sporadically.

“Holy shit, you should see your faces!” Jack laughs at the men on the floor. “Hey, when you go back to hell, tell them Handsome fucking Jack sent you!” He turns to Rhys. “Way to play along, pumpkin! The crying was a nice touch, I'm impressed.”

So this was all part of some plan? Rhys isn't sure if he wants to punch Jack or fall into his arms, but no matter what he did it could never properly illustrate how furious he was.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I break your heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I really am though.

Bitter silence dominates the drive home. Jack’s exhilarated mood and Rhys’ irritated one seem to meet in the middle to form a general air of copious annoyance. Jack tries his best to clear some of it away, or to at least make Rhys quit scowling. It doesn't sit well with him, rains on his parade as it were.

“That was some good acting back there, kiddo. Looked like you actually thought you were gonna die. Did you see their faces? Priceless!” 

He hadn't seen their faces, neither had Jack for that matter.

Rhys sighs heavily, folding his arms in his lap “Well, it’s not like I really had to pretend or anything.”

“Oh, come on, Rhysie. You know I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you. Trust me.”

“Can I, Jack?  _ Can I? _ I mean you seem to be very comfortable lying to me.” 

“God, are you still on that whole arm thing? So there were bandits, whatever. It’s taken care of.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen!”

“Hey! I saved your ass!”

“That doesn’t make luring me into danger okay!”

“Wait a minute. The desert heat must be getting to me. Remind me who it is that dedicates his entire life to making sure you have food in your stomach and a roof over your head. With no help!”

Rhys groans in loud frustration.

“I can’t help you if you always keep things secret from me. And can you just not make this about yourself? Can’t you just apologize? Just once?! ”   
The car comes to a screeching halt. Rhys goes inside without picking anything up out of the back. Jack doesn’t deserve his help. He wants nothing more than to go straight to bed after the hostage debacle.

* * *

Jack doesn’t come inside for at least fifteen minutes, but when he does Rhys is well aware. The door slams, followed by the crash and clatter of other items as a result.

“SON OF A BITCH!”

Rhys muffles his ears with his pillow, but it still doesn’t stifle the sound of Jack stomping around. Clearly he isn't going to get any sleep until he resolves the issue. Jack acts like he doesn't notice him enter the room, but he knows he's there. Rhys  _ knows _ he knows he's there.

“Jack.”

“It’s been taken care of. Go to sleep.” Rhys hears the grit in his teeth.

“Okay, that's it. I'm done. I'm done, Jack! I don't know how to help you if you never tell me anything. I don't know what the fuck you want me to do anymore! You act like I'm some fragile flower that can't handle the truth, but then you want me to help you with the things that are too tough for me to know about?! And what is so goddamn funny?”

“I can't believe this. I try to protect you and all I get in return is a bunch of grief. I should have known.”

“This isn't about you Jack.”

“You're right. This is a matter of your safety.”

“My safety?  _ My safety?!  _ Since when do you care about my safety!? _ ” _

In the blink of an eye Rhys moves just as close as they were in the Atlas facility. It might be his imagination, but he thinks he sees Jack flinch. 

“Have you ever considered that I don't need you to protect me?!” His words come out horse. “This isn't my first rodeo, Jack! Don’t forget who got you back to Helios, don't forget that I've earned my keep just as much as you have, don't forget that I’ve  _ killed _ just like you, and  _ DON'T YOU DARE  _ forget that I’m a man who will  _ never _ be a  _ COWARD _ that hides secrets like you. I don't know what the hell your plan is, but if you're any kind of man you'll tell me what it is and you're a man aren't you?! AREN'T YOU?!” His voice cracks at the end there. 

For a minute Jack says nothing. He just glowers at Rhys, his eyes as foggy and corpulent as the moonlight on the old smeared windows. Rhys fears that he may have overstepped his boundaries. He'd always had a little more leeway with Jack than others, but he might have taken it too far. God he wishes Vaughn was here to tell him he doesn't know when to shut up. He exhales sharply when he experiences sudden impact with the wall. 

“You little piece of shit!”

Rhys quickly finds it harder to breathe. First from Jack's grip on his neck, then from his lips on his.The sensation animalistically engulfs Rhys the same way Jack’s mouth engulfs his lips. He doesn't push him away, too baffled to move. He wonders how Jack can turn the most tender expression of human affection into something vile. Perhaps he intends to steal Rhys’ soul. His tongue slithers into his mouth. It tastes of venom and nicotine. Rhys ashamedly misses the flavor when he pulls away. Jack keeps him cornered for a moment. He watches him pant to catch his breath. 

“Jack,” he breathes in. “What,” he breathes out. “What are you doing?” He breathes in once more. 

“What you wanted me to do back at the warehouse- and don’t pretend to not know what I’m talking about. You wanted it.” 

Rhys says nothing, he just stares bewilderedly into the abyss, utterly beleaguered. 

“You don’t care about my secrets, Rhys… not as long as you get to pretend they’re about you. You want to think that I care about you or some shit, but keeping you alive doesn’t mean that. I don’t doubt that you can handle yourself on Pandora. I’ll tell ya there’s some hell out there, kiddo, but nothing that’s seen the likes of me.”

“I can help.”

“I’m not some shoddy house for you to fix up, _ okay?  _ I can’t just go to my happy place and make all of this...” he gestures vaguely to the entire room “never happen. If you want to believe I’m just misunderstood I’m not going to stop you, but I understand myself very clearly. I know what my purpose is.  _ It  _ showed me what my purpose is and I failed. I saw my destiny and you weren’t there, which as far as I’m concerned means you shouldn’t be here. Now I got a second chance to do it,  _ with _ or  _ without  _ you. So, I’m done waiting to find out what you’re for. Have fun in your fucking delusion.” He slams the door behind without any indication of where he’s going or if in when he’ll return. 

Rhys drops down to his knees in silence. Not even a creak from the floor deins to greet him. The walls address him like a pariah. The room is darker than he remembered. Perhaps a cloud was covering the moon’s face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your heart better be broken. Don't make me come over there.


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack takes a walk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part where I unbreak your heart (kind of)

What Jack needs right now more than anything is a drink, but he scarcely comes by one at such a late hour. The town falls silent in the moonless night, a museum of simpler times. The shops and residences around him, all lifeless replicas. The footprints on the dirt path before him, fossils. The cool fingers of the breeze grope at his neck. Jack simply adjusts the collar on his jacket, unfazed by the scorn of the wind. Finally he spots light about a block down the road where an impish shadow dances in a softly flickering glow outside of the grocery. He shrinks not from whatever awaits him there, for he himself is the chief horror of the scene. He doesn't exactly find a demon at the end of the path, more of a specter if anything. When the candlelight illuminates the girl's face Jack instinctively brings a hand to his lame eye. The young revenant picks her lantern up off of the front stoop upon seeing him. 

“We ain't open, old guy!” she tells him, stamping her bare feet.

“Well, you're in luck cause I'm not here to get anything.”

“Then what’s et ye want?”

“I don't want you to call me old guy for one.”

“T-aint no lie.”

“How do you know I'm old? You can barely see me.”

“Grammy says young men ain't got need to be prowlin around.”

“You don't seem to have much of a reason yourself, kiddo. Didn't your Grammy ever tell you not to talk to strangers?”

“You ain't no stranger though. I seen you thother day with that tall feller, the one what helped me fetch the jam,” she says, adjusting her yellow nightgown. 

_ This is who Rhys’ “skirmish” was with? _

“Why don't you head on back inside before something has you for a midnight snack?”

“That ain't fun though. Grammy's been reading me a story book, but now she’s plumb tuckered out, so I gone straight out the winda.” 

“Your mom and pop oughta be worried.”

“I ain’t got nary.” 

She holds the lantern up to her face. Jack spots his own reflection in her eye.

“Did you at least find out what the ending was?”

“I reckon they ain’t one. Grammy snoozed off for et.”

“But that don’t-  _ doesn’t  _ mean there isn’t one, just because you don’t know what it is.”

“Well then it don’t matter a-tall what it is I reckon. Guess I ain’t sposed to know.”

“Maybe one day you will.”

“And maybe I won’t,” she argues.

He watches the peculiar child fiddle with the handle on her lantern a bit.

“I been told a story too,” he remarks.

“Good on ye.”

“Ain't you curious what it was about?”

“Not a-tall.”

“Christ, kiddo. You don't care much for other folks do you?”

“Fine.” She folds her stubby arms. “What was it about?”

“The future.”

“Did you hear bout the ending?”

“I thought I did. But I don’t think so no-  _ any _ more.”

“Maybe they ain’t nary.”

“I think it’s about time you go back inside before your Grammy finds you.”

“She ain’t gonna know.”

“You better hope so. Old ladies are a tougher lot than you think, trust me.”

* * *

 

Rhys didn’t expect Jack to return so soon, if at all. He’s so silent though it’s like he really hasn’t. From the moment he walks through the door that morning with a cardboard box in hand, until only half of the sun peeks over the horizon he doesn’t speak once. Even the floorboards are unusually quiet. The house doesn't moan and complain about the wind. One mid afternoon gust sends a mighty cloud of dust tumbling over the sand. Displeased with his current company, Rhys steps out to watch it. He stops at the door.

“I wouldn't do that.” 

Jack doesn't even look up from the notebook he has been furiously scribbling in for the past hour.

“What?”

“I’m just sayin you never know when the winds might change.”

“Oh geez, are you worried about my safety?” Rhys sneers. He slams the door behind him. Jack just keeps to his papers. 

The sound of pen on paper fills the room as he works intently. For a moment he pauses when it briefly becomes too dark to see his work well. The scritch scratch of the pen is swallowed by a low rumble. The house throws a great clattering tantrum, punctuated by a sudden large thud against the door. Jack continues his work under a more limited light, as much as the windows permit with their new layer of dust. Visibility improves a bit when the door swings open. Jack glances up long enough to see Rhys evenly coated in a light golden brown, pouting indignantly as always. Jack allows himself a small smile as he returns to his paper.

“That's it?” Rhys asks.

“What?”

“That’s it? You're not going to make fun of me? Not gonna tell me I told you so?*

“Didn't plan on it.”

Rhys just watches him for a minute or so, completely perplexed.

“Did you switch brains with someone last night?”

“Didn't notice if I did.”

Rhys stalks off to clean up with a suspicious glance over his shoulder. 

When he returns Jack is just as he left him. He doesn't even acknowledge him. Rhys doesn't plan to put up with whatever this behavior is all day. He pulls out a chair next to him.

“Okay. What is that and what is so damn important about it?”

“It's just some rough designs I'm working on.”

Rhys perks up a bit. He hadn't expected an actual answer.

“For what?”

“New Atlas product, sugar.”

_ Oh-  _ Rhys mouths although Jack doesn't see it.

“Would you like to help?”

Speaking of things Rhys didn't expect.

“I mean I could, but I don't imagine I could help much. I-I- the whole engineering thing isn't really my department.” 

“Can you at least scan this stuff, get some dimensions for me?” Jack slides the cardboard box of salvaged parts toward him. 

“Sure, n-no problem.”


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which math is hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nah.

By Pandora standards Rhys could not have picked a better day to go to the store. It isn’t terribly hot, just balmy enough to roll down the windows in the car. Unfortunately, the pleasant weather is a waste on him. He can’t help but think about Jack. He hasn’t come outside in days and it’s starting to concern him. No amount of persuasion could convince him to go with Rhys on his errands and he hardly noticed him leaving. On his way out the door Jack simply grunted when he announced his impending absence. When Rhys agreed to help him with the design he did not expect to get a job as a full time caretaker. Jack does allow him some input, but mainly he spends his time managing the three “H’s”: hygiene, hydration and hunger. Jack struggles most with the latter, leaving Rhys utterly bemused. His stomach is one of the main dictators of the quality of his day, so he can't figure how someone could forget to eat entirely. As he always did, Jack found a way. Vaughn and Yvette used to call  _ him _ a workaholic. At least he allows himself breaks. Jack, on the other hand, won't be stopped until he completes the task at hand.  _ It's almost admirable,  _ Rhys thinks,  _ admirably unhealthy and admirably stupid.  _

Rhys grabs a new bag of coffee off of the shelf. He doesn't want to though, he really doesn't. He knows he is only fueling Jack’s abhorrent week of all nighters. Realizing that he picked the incorrect blend he searches the shelf again for what he only has a vague mental image of. He thinks the bag might have been blue.  _ Blue with white letters, no brown letters, no- _

Just then he feels a tug at his sleeve.

“Well look who it is. Did your gram like the jam?” Rhys smiles more at his little rhyme than she does. She doesn't even fake a grin, nor does she look at him.  _ Not her too. _

“Is something wrong?”

“Nah, it's just- I was wondrin if ye'd help me get et again.”

“Of course.”

“Ye really mean et?”

What was it with this girl and asking for help?  _ It's almost like she's afraid to.  _ It reminds him of Jack. 

“Are ye well?”

His distress on said issue must have crossed his face.

“I'm fine.”  He pats her on the head. It does nothing to hamper her precocious skepticism. 

“Ye don't look bushy tailed t’me. Somethin’ happen to your beau?”

“My what?”

“Your beau. Ye know, your old man.”

Rhys squints at her quizzically.

“They Lord,” she exclaims. “Tall guy, has a lame eye. Got somethin fierce happened to his face.” 

Realization dawns on him. He almost drops the glass jar to the floor.

“Oh you mean… We’re just friends, sweetie.”

“Oh. I just figered I seen ye walking so close and carrying on like that. Then he come by few nights ago with his tail between his legs. I reckoned ye got in a spat over somethin.”

“Yeah well… I might be a little worried about him. He’s been… shutting himself in lately.”

“I done that. Said I weren’t gonna come out fer tweny years. Course Grammy didn’t take kindly to et.”

“How did she make you stop?”

“She couldn’t, but she’s got mighty patience.”

“I see.”

He hands her the jar.

“Thank ye.” She disappears around the corner in her little, pell-mell jog. 

He’d forgotten to ask her name again.

* * *

 

Rhys tries and fails to stay up with Jack per Grammy’s suggestion. He heads to bed without him for the fourth night that week, taking a moment to observe the man in his engrossment as he passes by the desk. He sits like a flag, erect (if someone so exhausted could be described as such) from the pile of crumpled up paper that surrounds him. Rhys can see circles around his eyes, even from a distance in the dim lamp light. He stares unblinkingly at the latest draft with intense disgust. His glare could set the paper ablaze. Rhys finds himself compelled to discover what could insight so much rage. He peeks over his shoulder. For once he thinks maybe Jack honestly doesn’t know he’s standing behind him. He spots the source of confusion. He knows math can be confusing sometimes, even to an engineer like Jack, but Rhys is pretty sure the little girl from the grocery store would have this one covered. After three minutes he can’t keep his mouth shut.

“Thirteen, Jack.”

“Hm?”

“Twentyseven minus fourteen is thirteen Jack.”

“Yeah,” he replies in a sluggish drawl.  

“You alright?”

“M’fine.”

He still hasn’t written in the answer. Rhys represses his incredulity, evoking Grammy’s technique. He isn’t sure why he does what he does next. Maybe he too is getting drowsy. Jack lets out a long, heavy breath when Rhys’ fingers card through his hair. The sensation of his fingertips trailing over his skin is like the caress of sleep itself. He unashamedly leans into his touch eliciting the low hum of a tamed beast in the back of his throat. He claws at Rhys’ shirt to pull up his limp carcass. His fatigued legs cause him to wobble like an animal on a frozen lake resulting in him using Rhys as a crutch. Rhys strains under the weight of Jack’s limp appendages. 

“Jack... “ he huffs. “Why are you doing this?”

“Rhys,” He hisses grabbing desperately at him for support. He breathes heavily, occasionally repeating Rhys’ name among some incoherent gurgling. 

He collapses onto the bed immediately after the arduous hike upstairs, taking Rhys down with him. His stress is palpable. His arm around Rhys traps him there. He clings to him like a log in a raging river as his consciousness slips away from him. Not long after, Rhys feels his patience pay off as Jack’s breath begins to slow. He bristles at the sudden warmth on the back of his neck and the deep rumble in Jack’s chest. The lips that so roughly captured his the other night in a sinister kiss hover less than an inch from his neck, teasing his poor, weak conscience. He shamefully wishes he could feel them again. He shudders once more when Jack buries his face in the crook of his neck. Rhys senses skyrocket, enveloped purely in Jack's essence. It both soothes and alarms him. Jack constantly rubs him so many ways and he is never sure which one is wrong, especially now. Jack went from outright wanting him out of his life to grasping him so hard his sides are starting to hurt. He can't put his finger on what caused such a change. _What happened to him that night?_ It seemed so far in the past now. _Did he have a near death experience? Abducted by aliens? Killed and replaced by a doppelganger?_ Jack had mentioned having body doubles before. _Is this one of them?_ The infamous rough patch of skin slashed into Jack's face brushes against his neck as if to tell him it couldn't be. Only one man could bear such an emblem with dignity. He is also pretty sure that the harsh grumbling and gurgling coming out of Jack currently is unique to him as well. He decides that now is not the time to dwell on it anyway. One particularly long blink leaves him vulnerable and he too falls victim to the early hours of the morning. He tries to turn over, but he cannot. 


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is less crotchety. Rhys boils water, results to come.

The last thing Jack wants to deal with when he wakes up is Rhys acting like a smug bastard.  _ It is just too early in the morning for that shit, _ technically it's noon, but his point still stands. 

“All caught up on your beauty sleep?” 

He sits at Jack's desk with his legs crossed and a smirk on his face.

“You thought I was kidding when I said I wake up like this?” Jack teases.

Rhys responds with a chuckle and a warm smile. It has a certain quality that haunts Jack, but seeing it relaxes him. Rhys looks at him with more understanding than anyone ever has, yet he feels as though he's seen that same face in another life.  _ But where?  _ Rhys interrupts before he can delve deeper. 

“I got a surprise for you.”

“I just woke up, but please, lay it on me,” Jack complains.

Rhys picks the brand new pistol up from the desk behind him.

“I made some schematics and built it while you were still asleep. Gotta say, it looks pretty good for a heap of scrap.”

“Did you shoot it?”

“I did.”

“And?”

Rhys sighs. “Promise you won't let this go to your head, okay?’

“Rhys, do you ask the sun to stop shining, or the birds to stop chirping? Do you ask the mountains to stop… mountaining?”

Rhys interrupts him.

“Do you want the compliment or not?” 

Jack finally goes silent.

“Okay you got me, it's really cool.”

Rhys can't help but smile to himself. Jack would never admit to sticking his chest out a little, if he brought it up.

“Well, I would have let you have the first shot, but, you know…”

“I get it okay?” Jack groans, “you got up early and you're an ass about it. Actually, I'm glad you gotta alotta energy. Maybe it'll help you build faster.”

“Me? Build? All of them?”

Jack admires the reflection of the sun on the metal, tilting it from side to side to watch it glitter in the light. 

“That's what I said. You going deaf, Rhysie? Guess I'll just have to talk louder!”

“Shush. I'm not going deaf I just- Isn't that going to take a long time?”

“C’mon, cupcake. It's not like your arm’s gonna get tired.”

“I guess you're right,” Rhys admits.

“Am I ever not?”

“You really want me to go there?”

“You're killin me, Rhys. You're killin me.” 

* * *

 

Having a cybernetic eye and arm always makes Rhys appear somewhat mechanical, but now it extends beyond the surface. He barely has to think about building the gun anymore. It feels like he doesn't even have control of his hands. One minute there will be a smattering of parts in front of him, then the next a shiny new product. He spends hours snapping and screwing the pieces together while Jack blabs on in the background. 

Although it grates on his nerves, Rhys is glad to see that Jack seems to be on the upswing. He isn't just explaining plans, or lecturing him on one of the many hazards of Pandora  Those types of conversation are always short, cut and dry, to the point and no further, and simply not Jack. The way he's talking now though, it almost convinces Rhys that nothing ever happened to Helios. If he just closes his eyes he can easily imagine that they are sitting in the office while Jack reclines in his throne of a chair, and complains about stupid employees.

“I used to punch him in the face every other day!” Jack proclaims proudly. He inspects the newly built barrel in his hand before dropping it into the ever growing pile. “Bunch of people said it was ‘terrible’ and ‘for no good reason’, but I'm pretty sure I just sensed that he was an asshole before everyone else figured it out.”  

Rhys grins at Jack's remark. He almost wishes said asshole were here just so he could gloat. Vasquez would be thunderstruck if he could see Rhys resurrecting Atlas, with Jack by his side, dubiously in a relationship. He wasn't exactly sure if that last part was true, but if it were he would definitely make sure Vasquez knew. After all, Jack never passes up an opportunity to assert dominance.

Rhys jumps when Jack's touch is extra hot on his neck.

“You okay, cupcake? You feel clammy. Do I need to stay here?” 

“Where are you going?”

“Going into town to see if I can't find somewhere that’ll sell this hunk of junk,” he replies, brandishing a brand new piece of quality Atlas engineering.

“Okay.”

“You look really red. You sure you're fine?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, I'll try not to be too late, but no promises.” 

Jack dashes out the door, spinning his keychain around his index finger. The gust caused by the door rattles the wind chimes, signaling his exit.

Rhys takes Jack's absence as an opportunity for a break. He subconsciously meanders over to the refrigerator, having forgotten to eat lunch while he was immersed in being a one man assembly line. Unfortunately, there isn't a whole lot for him to eat without much preparation, and he has always been hopelessly culinarily challenged. It's moments like this that make Rhys wonder how he's managed to get by for so long. Lucky for him he had the privilege of Vaughn cooked meals for most of his adult life. Rhys has two options. Either he can make something for himself, or wait until Jack comes back at God knows when. He favors the former as he dislikes the idea of eating dinner late, as well as fatigued and possibly angry Jack in the kitchen with access to fire and sharp objects. 

What to make though? It  _ is a  _ Thursday, at least Rhys is pretty sure it's Thursday. It is his fate then to uphold the sacred tradition of spaghetti night in Vaughn's honor. It can't possibly be that hard. Rhys can boil water, contrary to popular belief among Jack, Vaughn, several ex girlfriends, and even his own mother. After a solid ten minutes Rhys does eventually discover how to light the gas stove. The crackle of the pilot worries him a bit until he remembers that it is normal. Now that he has conquered the stove Rhys must consider the actual ingredients. Obviously there's the pasta and tomato sauce, but also spices and sausage. Or was it turkey? His mother had always used sausage, but Vaughn usually cooked with ground turkey. Rhys eventually settles  on the turkey. 

After smelling every spice available in the cabinet to gauge the flavor profile Rhys finally leaves his mess of a concoction to simmer. His “break” took longer than he anticipated so he must work extra fast so Jack doesn't accuse him of slacking off. He makes a work bench of the sturdy wooden tables and chairs in the kitchen where he sedulously tightens each bolt. The screw turning is the only present sound, except for the peaceful ring of the old, rusted wind chimes on the porch. Those old chimes could create the most beautiful melodies. They sway brilliantly in the breeze with the sunset reflecting off of the few flecks of silver still unobstructed by rust. In the middle of the chimes hangs a glass orb that casts dots of light through the window and onto the table in front of Rhys.  The warm breath of the wind teases playfully at the drapery. Rhys starts to understand what Jack said that first night, that being here was like being on  vacation. It's definitely not a resort, but he never thought he could feel so at ease on Pandora. He chuckles at himself a bit. To think he could grow fond of this cesspool,  _ stupid.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back into the swing of things, so I don't think it will take this long to get a new chapter for a while.


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The part where they hook up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still never writing smut, but it is heavily implied. Thou hast been warn'd.

Rhys has just enough time to button the last button on his nightshirt before Jack surges into the bedroom. He didn't have sufficient time to put on pants, but Jack doesn't even notice.

“Guess who just put Atlas back on shelves? Looks like old Jack's still got it!” 

“That's great!”

“Great?”

Jack charges into his personal space in a matter of seconds, allowing Rhys to see the glimmer in his eye up close. The spark isn't hard to find.

“Great?!” he roars again, shaking Rhys by his shoulders. “Great he says! It's more than great! It's- it's-” Jack pauses. His arms snake around Rhys’ waist, lifting him off his feet. “It's faaaaaantastic!” he concludes, spinning them both around a few times. 

Their laughter fills the room. Jack lets Rhys’ feet splash down on floor. 

“Nothin but the good life for us from here on out, baby!”

“Good,” Rhys jokes. “I do enjoy being rich, I don't know about you.”

Jack's face glows with a grin he has been saving for years. It stuns Rhys into silence, as if Halley's comet decided to pass by, just for him. Rhys always wished he could find that light. He has to grab it before it vanishes. He doesn't usually rush with his instincts, but Grammy once said something about getting what you want by yourself, and her advice has not failed him yet. Jack's eyes are closed anyway.  _ It's almost too easy. _

Jack stays surprisingly silent when Rhys pulls him into a rather forceful kiss. It ends as quickly as the thought that initiated it. Rhys forgot that touching a light burns.

He stumbles back a few steps, trying not to visibly tremble 

“I-I-I- I'm sorry! Oh my god!” He can't bear to look anywhere but at his feet. “I just- I got excited and, oh my god…”

Jack just gives him a crooked smile and pulls him back before he can continue to babble. Electricity flows through his veins. The warmth of  Jack’s lips intoxicates him.

Rhys’ melts away. His back hits the bed with a muted thud. Jack pins him there. His hands tangle in Jack's hair while Jack’s mouth finds his neck, littering his skin with kisses and the occasional bite. It draws a deep sigh from Rhys.

Eventually, the shirt fabric stops Jack, as well as the somewhat off putting giggle coming from Rhys. He takes the lull as an opportunity to rid Rhys of his shirt.

“What? What is it?” He pushes himself up.to look at Rhys' flushed face. Jack looks into his eyes, one a clear blue pool, the other a swirling, russet cocktail of lust and embarrassment.

“I'm sorry,” Rhys giggles. “It's just that I've wanted this for so long and I never thought in a million years that I… that I...” he breaks off into a moan as Jack's tongue begins to tease the sensitive skin around his port. 

“H-hey wait.”

Jack props himself up on his elbows once more. An indignant pout graces his face. 

“What now?”

He flinches slightly when Rhys lays an unexpected hand on his cheek, cool and calming like a splash of water 

“You're an incredible man, you know that?’ Rhys coos.

Jack lands a little peck on his palm. 

“I'd be a dead one without you, sweetheart.”

Then that smile hits Jack again. It knocks him over like a wave. Those eyes look right into his soul, no matter how much he doesn't want them to. No one has ever been able to do that, not since  _ her _ . Rhys isn't her. He isn't supposed to look at Jack that way.

“Cupcake, can I ask you something real quick?”

“Yeah?”

“Hold on, sit up a second.”

“Jack, is everything okay?”

“Yes. Well, no. Maybe.”

“What do you want to ask me?” 

“Rhys, I think I should tell you- no never mind, that's stupid. Let's just- Where do you think this whole…” Jack gesticulates around his face, “ _ situation _ , came from?”

Rhys’ brow furrows.

“I’ve tried before, but I can't figure it out. It's just shaped so weirdly I can't imagine where it came from.”

Jack encircles the shape with his hands. Rhys covers his mouth, wide eyed. 

“Sure it resembles it but- You mean… It really is? But how?”

“Vault hunter landed one lucky sucker.punch. Burned like hell, let me tell ya.”

Rhys whinces at the idea.

Jack wrings his hands.

“So, you remember when I was saying all that crazy shit about the future? That was when I saw it. That moment. It showed it to me… I guess I was worried because I- I didn't see you.”

“Jack,” Rhys rests a hand on his shoulder, “it's okay now.”

“There's been so many. Even the people 

it showed me, all of them are gone now. First my wife, and then- And when you smile it makes me think- You aren't her though. I know that.”

“Jack.”

“I didn't see the end though, and I thought maybe, maybe you and I- Listen, if you don't want this I'll stop right now. Everything can be like it was before. We can just-”

Rhys climbs into his lap, pulling him into a tight embrace. Jack freezes.

“I want this, Jack,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together. “I want all of it. I want you.” 

Jack hugs him in return.

They stay there for what feels like forever, nose to nose. A growing warmth builds between them, like steam, something that lives and breathes. 

It takes Jack a while to notice Rhys starting to fidget. His hands sneak under Jack's shirt, gliding over his back and chest. His legs tighten around Jack's waist. Jack fears Rhys’ teeth might go through his lip if he bites it any harder. 

“Are you sure you want all of it?” Jack teases, pulling his shirt over his head to give Rhys better access. “Look at yourself, about to cream your pants and I haven't even touched you. I don't think you could handle it.” 

“In that case why don't you stop talking about it and give it to me already?” Rhys quips.

Jack smirks.

“Well, if you put it that way----” 

He lets Rhys drag him down to the mattress, turning the lamp off on the way.

* * *

 

Rhys wakes to a sneeze, at least he thinks he does. He might have dreamed it. It could have been Jack, but then again it would have been right in Rhys' face if it were. He bristles for a minute or two until the silence convinces him it was all in his imagination. With a quick yawn, he nestles back into Jack's arms. Jack subconsciously grips him tighter. Rhys doesn't mind. 

Just as he starts to slip back into sleep, he hears it again. This time it's a cough and then another sneeze. It can't be his mind playing tricks this time.

“Jack,” he whispers urgently. “Jack.”

“Hmmmmm.”

“Jack, wake up.”

“Don't wanna.”

“It's important.”

He still doesn't open his eyes.

“Rhysie, baby, darlin, sweet cheeks, I get it okay? I'm old and you have more stamina than me; it's gonna have to wait until tomorrow.”

“What are you? Ew, no. I think there's someone downstairs.”

They lie there in silence for a minute, awaiting confirmation. Another sneeze triggers Jack to sit up at break neck speed, literally. Rhys gets flung forward pretty hard. His spine shouldn't bend like that. He almost cries out, but he quietly bites his lip instead.

Jack throws the sheets aside.

“What are you doing?” Rhys’ demands in a whisper.

He can't see Jack's face, but his voice alone indicates an eye roll.

“Well first of all, I'm gonna put on some pants. Then, I'm gonna pop a cap in whatever’s down there.”

“Oh.”

“You comin with? I mean, you came with me earlier, and I would have been a lot happier if you woke me up because you wanted to come again. If you know what I-”

“Oh my god, will you drop it?! There could seriously be a murderer downstairs.”

“He said, to the murderer he was just spooning like two minutes ago.”

“Let's just get this over with.,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a break after this chapter. Sorry for the cliffhanger. Jk, I'm not sorry at all.


	10. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you got TB, you gotta get out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack's dialogue in this chapter is just one continuous wise crack.

Rhys hastily throws Jack's shirt on before following him downstairs. Jack maneuvers down the steps with ever so skillful silence. Despite his agility, Rhys can feel Jack's pulse racing at the base of his neck. Suddenly his own footsteps sound thunderous. They come to a sudden halt. Rhys’ heart forgets to beat when he sees the shadowy figure. His fingernails dig deep enough into Jack's shoulder to warrant a future apology. He had honestly been hoping in his heart of hearts that there would be nothing down here, however unlikely. Jack turns to him, putting his finger up to his lips. Rhys thanks his cybernetics for making seeing in the dark a bit more manageable. Jack points to the light switch on the wall. Rhys hovers his hand over it. Jack motions for him to wait. He stalks across the room quietly, low to the ground. He poises himself like a sniper behind the sofa. Once he gets what he thinks is a clear shot, he signals for Rhys to turn the light on. 

The cloaked stranger flails wildly at the light. Jack motions for Rhys to approach.

“Hey!” Rhys shouts.

The stranger's screechy laugh makes Rhys grit his teeth.

“You're the guy from the facility aren't you?”

“Sure am, hot stuff.”

“Shut up!” Rhys gets ready to shoot. “You're supposed to be dead.”

The stranger cackles. “Well I would be if your boyfriend wasn't such a crappy shot!”

“Shut up! I saw you die!”

“He got my shoulder.” 

_ That laugh again.  _ Rhys can't take it. He knows he has heard that voice somewhere before. 

“Who the hell are you and why are you following me?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

“I would,” he cocks the pistol in his hand, “and you're going to tell me.”

“Ha! I hope you’re a better shot than scarface then.”

Rhys’ ears ring when a shot whizzes past the cloaked man's head. It makes impact with a cabinet, creating a fairly large hole, and sending splinters flying. The stranger’s shriek isn't exactly music, nor is the fit of coughs and sneezes that follows. Jack’s shouting doesn't help either.

“That's it! I swear to god, if you call me that one more time- I’m gonna shove your head so far up your ass you might finally lose your virginity! Now take off the fucking cape! You look like you're gonna try and sell me a fucking potion or something. Sorry about your ears, Rhys.”

“Rhys?” the man exclaims. “It's really you? I didn’t recognize you without your arm.” 

“Do I  _ know you?” _

“Rhys it's me!” The man pulls off his cloak.

Rhys recognizes him instantly, the blond hair, the green eyes, the stupid goatee.

“ _ Chris,”  _ he groans. “I knew it. I know your shitty excuse for a voice anywhere.”

Jack finally bothers to walk toward the other two.

“Rhysie, you know this asshole?”

“He's one of Vasquez lackeys- or _ was _ , I should say.”

“Yep. Can’t kiss ass for a dead man, I guess.”

“Hugo is dead?!”

“Shut up, kiddo. Men are talking.”

Chris goes silent at Jack's command. He doesn't really have much of a choice anyway.

Jack yawns. “Even beyond the grave all wallet head ever does is cause us trouble. It's kind of amazing if you think about. Will wonders never cease?”

“That’s a tad hypocritical. Don’t you think?”’

“Shut your pretty mouth, kiddo.”

“Wallet head? Kiddo?” Chris mumbles. “Hey, has anyone ever told you you sound just like Handsome Ja-” He stops short. Rhys looks for the red alarm light flashing behind his eyes. “Sir!  It's- it's- it's you! I didn't- Hey, I didn’t mean all that stuff from earlier, I just didn't recognize you without the- The uh…  The whole face thing… I'm gonna stop now…”

“Good idea,” Jack growls. “You're lucky Rhys is here, if it were just me right now I’d hit you so hard you’d die rolling.”

If Rhys had on his other arm, he would have crossed it over the real one. 

“Hey, don’t you make me the good cop. I’m just as pissed off as you.”

“Yeah, but no one is afraid of you, cupcake.”

“Well, why not? I have just as much power in the company as you, but you get called a name and it's like, 'oh god it's Jack, please don't smite me, your lordship.’” Rhys laughs fakely as he mocks Chris with a hyperbolic impression. “Meanwhile, he actually  _ held me hostage,  _ and what do I get? 'Oh, hey Rhys, sup bro, how bout this weather we’re having?’”

“I don't sound that bad,” the blond interjects.

“Did I say you could talk?!”

“Wow, Rhysie. You gonna kill him? Cause I'm just gonna put my cards on the table here and say that I would totally be into that.”

“Can you not?”

“Sorry, I know how  _ sensitive  _ you are.”

“Will you just-”

Another sneeze interrupts their bickering.

“Hey! I just realized! You’re both alive!” Chris interrupts. 

“No shit, dipstick. You gonna do something about it?” 

“I gotta tell the Chief.”

“The Chief?”

“The leader of the children of Helios.”

“Last time I checked that position belonged to me and Rhys. I think I'm going to have to have a talk with this guy.”

“He would be pleased to meet with you. The prophecy has been fulfilled.”

Rhys speaks before Jack can get a word in. “First of all, we've only been separated for a month. There's no way you guys already made up some bull shit prophecy mystical religion. Second, do you mean to say there are other survivors?”

“Oh sure, there's plenty of us.”

“Where?”

“A few miles East from here.”

“Good. Report here tomorrow morning. You're going to take us there.”

“Right, Rhys. I- I mean, yes sir.”

He sneezes once more.

“What's with all the coughing and sneezing anyway?” Jack asks. “You got TB? Cause if you got TB you gotta get out.”

“At first I thought it was because of the temperature, but I'm starting to think I'm allergic to something in here. You didn't happen to cook anything with cinnamon, did you?”

“No, but now that you mention it I can smell it.” He inhales deeply. “Yep, that's cinnamon, basil… allspice and… turmeric? God that's awful!” He covers his nose with his hand. “Rhys, what did you make?”

“N-nothing Idon'tknowwhatyou'retalkingaboutandanyway, good seeing you Chris. It was cool and all, but I really need some sleep, so I would appreciate it if you would kindly getthefuckouttaherethanksbye.”

Before Chris can protest Rhys has already shoved him back out into the cold.

“Damn,” Jack curses. “I don't know what you cooked, but I’m glad I wasn’t here for it.”

“It was nothing,” Rhys replies, grabbing Jack’s hand and pulling him up the stairs. 

He should have passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow, but he can’t manage to close his eyes. 

“Jack?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think? Vaughn and Yvette?”

“It’s possible.”

“I know,  _ possible. _ ”

“Well, sweetheart, I guess if you find out you’ve pulled a Jack, as it were… At least you’re pretty much stuck with me.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Jack rolls over in a huff, taking most of the blankets with him.

Rhys pokes the back of his neck.

“I’m kidding, you big dork. How does such a big dork make so many people crap their pants?”

“I don’t know. How does such an annoying, whiny, dweeb look so hot with his face covered in-”

“Shut up!”


	11. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys holds his breath too long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you I can crush your soul! :)

Rhys already accepted that his name irrevocably is and always will “Rhysie” long ago. Chris appears a tad more reluctant to have his name legally changed to “dipstick.” Rhys considers that maybe Jack doesn’t remember his name, but he might just be doing it to spite Chris. He wouldn’t put it past him. Looking in the rear view mirror he can see Chris slouch a bit more every time Jack refers to him, including this one.

“So, Dipstick, you never did explain why you were following us. You got some creepy fascination with Rhysie? Cause I can’t even begin to describe the extent of how not okay I am with that.”

“No, sir, of course not.”

“So you’re saying you don’t think he’s attractive?” Jack asks threateningly.

“I- I don’t think so?”

“Good answer.”

For a few seconds the roar of the engine is the only sound to be heard.

"So are you gonna explain yourself or what?”

“Y-yes, sir, right away.”

Rhys can’t help but get in a quick laugh at the timidity in the voice of one of his former middle management headaches. _Karma really is a bitch._ He awaits the story behind the attempted robbery with great anticipation.

“You probably already figured out that we don’t have much back at camp. Mostly just the clothes on our backs and whatever we could recover from the wreckage. I saw that old Atlas warehouse, and thought there might be some good stuff, with supplies being scarce and all. Same thing when I saw the house, I thought it would be abandoned though. I don’t usually go for the places people actually live, and definitely not when they’re around, but I know a few guys who might-”

“Hold on a minute,” Rhys interrupts. “You’re telling me that you guys have been surviving for an entire month off of mostly stolen supplies?”

“Well where else are we supposed to get it? Together we have about enough money to fill a shoebox. It’s not like we’re going to raid a bandit camp or something. The only way we’ve been able to make any cash is by selling the junk we can’t use.”

“Junk you can’t use?”

“Yeah, you know, like jewelry and stuff.”

“Jack, do you wanna say something?”

“About what?”

“About the fact that your employees have basically created a black market!”

“I know!” Jack pretends to wipe away a tear. “I’m so proud of them. They did it all on their own too.”

Rhys rolls his eyes.

“Anyway, we almost there yet, navigator dipstick?” Jack asks.

“Just take a right up here.”

Upon seeing the camp, Rhys concludes that none of the survivors were engineers apparently. The few structures that aren't tents have been built precariously from sheet metal and scrap. Despite the structural quality, there are many of the improvised shelters dabbling the desert valley. If Rhys squints it almost resembles a suburb nestled between the two plateaus. Chris instructs Jack to park just on the outskirts so he can affirm that the so called chief is actually around before they arouse an unwanted ruckus. Jack begrudgingly complies.

“Can you believe this many of them survived?” Jack asks once he and Rhys are alone. “They must have been packed like sardines in those escape pods.”

Rhys doesn't care how many there are. He only cares if one of them is Vaughn, or Yvette, or both. Jack continues on rambling despite not receiving a reply. Rhys tunes out automatically, partially because his mind is already occupied with other concerns, and partially due to a lack of sleep, also caused by those same concerns.

“Don't you think that's weird?” Jack's question manages to penetrate the dam of worrying.

“What?”

“I said, don't you think that's weird?”

“Yeah, but what?”

Jack hufs. He never liked repeating himself. “What I said was, don't you think it's strange that even though there are so many of them and so many separate directions they could have gone, they still decided to stay together?” He watches Rhys ponder it for a moment.

“I guess when you've spent years together on the same piece of space junk it's like instinct… there's just something about being together that feels like you're really home, you know?”

Jack thinks that for once in his life he finally does. “I think so.”

“Well that makes one of us,” Rhys replies, running his fingers through his hair. He leans forward on the edge of his seat, glaring at the makeshift town in front of him. His thoughts flash past his eyes too rapidly for Jack to read. Attempting to discern one would be like trying to catch a raindrop on the head of a pin. All that Jack can tell is that he's itching to go find out, just to get it over with if it turns out to be not what he wanted.

“Rhysie, sweetheart, it's gonna be okay.”

“Until it isn't.”

“Don't worry, cupcake. They're both pretty smart, I'm sure they made it. Now perk up, okay? Don't want the people to see their prophesied deity about to cry his eyes out, do we?’

“No.”

“Good.”

Jack smiles against his mouth as he presses a chaste kiss to his lips. The river in Rhys’ mind slows down for a moment. The deeper and rougher Jack gets, the more Rhys forgets where they are, so much so that a knock on the window startles him half to death. He shoves Jack away harshly.

“SHIT,” Rhys breathes like he is on the verge of hyperventilating. “There's no way he didn't see that.”

“So?” Jack asks with eyes still half lidded and an irritating smirk.

“So? They can't know about _this,”_ Rhys gestures between them. _“_ They already have no respect for me. I don't want them to think I have this job just cause I sucked your dick or something.”

“Rhysie, babe, you're goin about this all wrong. You don't earn their respect by conforming to their expectations. You show them you don't care about their expectations by doing whatever the hell you want. Observe.” He rolls down the window. “What's the situation, agent dipstick?”

“Um- I- Uh…” Chris’ face can’t decide if it wants to be flushed or pale.

“What’s the matter, dipstick? You look a little shaken, did you see something that _shocked_ you?”

“No… Um, I just was going to tell you that the chief wasn’t there so…”

“Show us around anyway,”

“Sir?”

“I said show us around anyway, numbskull,” Rhys snarls. “You think any of these idiots are any smarter than you? No one’s going to recognize us.”

* * *

****

Chris doesn’t shut up from the time the tour starts until the very end. Rhys couldn’t care less about the shoddy shacks or the time so and so found the biggest rock ever. He spends the whole tour scanning everyone’s face, including Jack’s, which greets him each time with an unwavering scowl. Rhys pays no mind to him. He demands that Chris show them every single solitary corner and crevice, much to Jack’s vexation. Nothing is going to stop him from finding his friends. Jack doesn’t notice his motives until Rhys forces Chris to take them around a second time.

“Are you serious?” Chris asks, oblivious as he is, even he realizes how little there is to show.

“As death.”

Jack’s eyebrows knit together. He purses his lips as he tries to keep up with Rhys’ frantic pace.

“Rhys, are you okay?” he whispers once gets close enough.

“Right as rain!”

Rhys’ smile might have been convincing enough for Chris, but Jack won’t be fooled. The twitch at the corner of his mouth allows something to leak through that Jack knows Rhys doesn’t want him to see. The usually shimmering pools of color in his eyes have gone so dull they might as well just be buttons sewn on his face. Jack knows Rhys is searching up, down, and everywhere, and at this point he is too. Even with two sets of eyes, the second search turns out no result. Jack is just humoring him by the time Rhys requests a third tour.

“If you insist,” Chris had remarked.

About the time they pass “the spot where Megan found the biggest boulder any of us have ever seen holy crap” for the fifth time, Jack realizes that he must accept what Rhys will not. Not enough light remains to search for faces anyway.

“I think I've seen enough, rice chrispies “

“Oh thank go-aaaaa I mean yes sir.”

“What?!” Rhys snaps.

“I'm just saying it's getting dark and I'm sure dipstick would be happy if we let him go.”

Rhys grits his teeth, “what if I don't plan to let go?”

“Sometimes it's for the best,” Jack tries to keep a calming tone.

“Fine,” Rhys spits. His fists clench.

“Can you just bring your king or whatever by the house tomorrow?” Jack asks Chris.

“Of course.”

“Welp,” Rhys exclaims loudly. “Now that that's cleared up I guess we'll be heading back.” His nails dig painfully into Jack's arm. Hot blood trickles down over icy fingers. “Let's go back then!”

“Back where?” Jack asks, biting his lip.

“Just back.”

“You mean home?”

Rhys waits a beat to answer.

“ _No_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your pain sustains me.


	12. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys mopes for an entire (but rather short) chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you love Rhys you're going to hate me for this.

The journey back to the house passes in complete silence, but Jack wouldn't know what to say if Rhys would speak to him. He expects he will say something once they get out of the car; however, he still doesn’t make a sound. Dinner passes by with only the clatter of silverware in the air. Jack freezes whenever Rhys looks at him, though it doesn’t happen often. Rhys scoots his chair away from the table abruptly, throwing a balled up napkin on the table apathetically. The screech of the wood along the floor startles Jack.

“I'm going to take a shower,” he says impassively.

Jack still has no idea how to respond.

“Okay, I'll-”

“I don't care what you do.” Rhys interrupts.

Jack bites his tongue.

His arm burns like hell where Rhys scratched it. The wound appears to be deeper than he thought, but he has definitely had worse. Eventually he builds up the tolerance to wash the dishes. He should be pissed, but he can’t bring himself to be angry. If anyone knows what Rhys is going through it's him. Rhys needs space more than anything right now. The sink continues to drip after he closes the tap. Water just won’t cooperate for him today. Jack figures he might as well put his pillow on the couch. He passes by the bathroom on the way. The noises he hears cause him to pause in front of the door.

“Rhysie, you okay?”

“I'm fine!” his voice cracks substantially.

Jack puts his ear to the door. He meets  the sound of running water and Rhys trying to catch his breath. Jack tries to maintain his minimal interference philosophy.

“You better not be crying in the shower!”

“I said I'm fine!” Rhys retaliates.

The hiccups and hyperventilating continue.

“That's it! I'm coming in there!”

“Wait!”

A jetstream of steam bombards Jack when he opens the door.

“Come outta there,” he demands.

“No.” Rhys coughs harshly. Jack can practically feel the pain in his own throat.

“Come outta there, or I'm coming in.”

“Leave me alone!”

Rhys leaves him no choice. So much for giving him space. He narrowly avoids a punch to the face upon entering the shower. He manages to grab Rhys’ wrist to subdue his arm. Rhys looks pale, all but his eyes which are dark and swollen. Jack can feel him shaking. 

“Jack,” Rhys’ breath hitches. “You-” He hiccups. “You fucking idiot.”

He tries to take another swing at him, but his arm remains restrained. 

Jack pulls him into a forceful hug that barely sedates him. Rhys tries to rebuff it, but he can't with his arm captured. Rhys shrieks. 

“Fuck you,” Rhys sobs into his chest. “Fuck you. Why did you tell him to stop?”

“I had to, Rhysie.”

“No you didn’t. You just hate me. You never wanted me. You still don’t, you’re just settling.”

“That’s not true, and I did it for your own good,” Jack replies calmly.

“Why?”

“I had to.”

“You just let them go! You did!” This time Jack allows him to hit his chest, but his weakened body has little effect. He finally crashes, resting his chin on Jack’s shoulder.

“You did…”

“I know, Rhys. I know.” For a moment the world stays completely still as Jack gets drenched in water and Rhys’ tears. “I know you don't like it when I know, but I know.” Jack finally decides Rhys has calmed down enough to release his arm. It falls limply to his side. 

“Why? Why did it- Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“I'm sorry, Jack. I'm sorry.” Rhys barely gets his apology out before bursting into a coughing fit. For a split second Jack fears he might collapse. His eyes are red and his breath is still stuttering, but he has no tears left.

“It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay.” He reaches up to pat Rhys’ head.

Rhys gasps. “Oh my god, your arm.”

“It's alright.”

He examines the blood still under his fingernails. The nausea it induces does not help him feel less faint. “No, it's not.”

“It is to.”

“No it isn’t,” Rhys sniffles.

“It is to because I said so.”

That remark actually brings a small smile to Rhys face.

“You got me good.”

“You could’ve killed me.”

“Hey, no more of this I hate you stuff. I don’t hate you.”

“But-”

“If the next words out of your mouth contradict my fervent belief that you are absolutely wonderful, then I may have to decide to kill you after all.” Rhys laughs shallowly. Jack cringes at the hoarseness in his throat. “Whaddya say I wash your hair or something? Just so this isn’t a complete waste of water.” Rhys nods. “Alright, turn around. You aren’t going to faint on me are you?” Rhys shakes his head. 

The coolness of the shampoo soothes Rhys. Jack does his best to massage it in gently, despite the size of his hands. Rhys sighs in approval. His eyelids droop shut as the sensation causes his neck to go limp. At this point his head is just swimming. He brings a hand up to Jack's face, resting it on his cheek. Jack presses a kiss to his palm. Once Rhys’ hair has been thoroughly saturated Jack takes soap to his back. Rhys clenches his teeth when Jack squeezes a knot in his shoulder. Eventually, the pain turns into a comfortable numbness. His skin tingles where Jack's fingertips glide over his back, tracing the intricate blue matrix of swirls and dots. After a thorough rinsing under the hot water Rhys could not be any more ready to go to sleep.

His skin welcomes the embrace of his pajamas. He has to use Jack's shoulder as a support in order to put on his pants. Jack sticks with his usual t-shirt and boxer shorts. The blankets are even more inviting than the pajamas.  Rhys finds something about the weight of them comforting. He has never craved a hug more in his entire life. Tonight he is grateful for the strong strangulating quality of Jack's cuddles.

“Feelin any better, pumpkin?”

“Barely," Rhys yawns.

"That's okay,” Jack replies, tightening his arms around him. “Just a little is good enough for now.” Rhys melts into the warmth, drooling a bit on Jack's shirt. Jack doesn't think a single soul could be as dead to the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told ya.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack wakes up too early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up 30 years later with a mediocre chapter*
> 
> Sorry, I was applying to college and it sucked eggs

_ Jack planned to let Rhys sleep in the this morning. Whoever this bandit king was, Rhys wouldn't have to deal with him. He would take care of it like the good “beau” he was… _

At least that's what Rhys wished Jack's inner narrative consisted of when it probably went more like:

_ Oh hey, Rhys! I see you're looking mildly relaxed. It'd be a shame if someone were to say… act like a class A douche canoe and completely fuck it up. Yep, you get to stare at the wall in the shower for ten minutes wondering why you find me attractive in the first place. You won't be able to fault me though cause I have good intentions. I'm trying my best and you wouldn't do half as well if you were in my position! Why am I doing it though? Do I love you? You can't tell! Mwahahahaha. _

Regardless, Jack had better have a good reason for waking him up so early.

“Rhys, I got something to show ya.”

“Huh?”

“I have to show you something.”

“Em tire, candit way?” Rhys complains into his pillow.

“No, it can't wait.”

“Fine,” Rhys groans, rolling over sluggishly. His eyes strain in the early morning mixture of light and dark.

“I'd like you to meet someone,” Jack says. 

Rhys sits up abruptly, blood rushing in his ears. Of course this is how Jack is going to introduce him to someone important because  _ of course.  _ There is no better time really. Eventually, the shadows in front of him refine into two distinct silhouettes. The broad, angular one is definitely Jack, but Rhys can't quite discern who the shorter one is-

“Vaughn!”

He lunges at the shorter man. 

“Uh, yeah. Hi, buddy. Good to see ya,” Vaughn wheezes, patting his friend’s back gingerly through the suffocating hug. He looks toward Jack for assistance. Jack simply shrugs and watches their exchange from afar.

“Dude! I thought you were dead!” Rhys exclaims. He finally releases Vaughn, allowing him to take the breath he so desperately needs. “Where were you yesterday? I was looking for you,” he scolds.

“I was out looking for you!” Vaughn retorts.

“Oh.” Rhys runs his fingers through his hair. “You thought I’d be alive?”

“Honestly, no. But I knew for sure that Handsome Jack doesn’t go down so easily, and probably had at least a fourth of your carcass.” 

Rhys pouts. “Well, your new beard is stupid,” he grumbles.

“That's the same thing Vette said. Some help you guys are.”

“I like it,” Jack interrupts. “Very… chiefly.”

“See?” Vaughn gestures toward Jack. “He gets it.”

“Wait. Yvette? Is she here?”  

“Yeah, downstairs. I'm going to tell her about how the two of you are both blind to fashion.” 

“You got her to wake up before noon?”

“Actually, that's when we were  _ supposed  _ to be here, but apparently some of us have transcended such human folly as sleep,” Vaughn replies, cutting imputative eyes at Jack. “But I'll let you guys settle that.” Vaughn pats Rhys’ shoulder before heading off to meet their other friend.

“I'll catch up in a minute,” Rhys calls. He takes a few steps toward Jack. “So you went and found him for me hmm?”

Jack thoroughly delights in the way Rhys’  features soften for him. His amicable smile and excited eyes dissolve into something more subtle, more delicate. His cheeks tinge faintly with familiar adoration, as if he needn't say anything at all for Jack to know how he felt. Jack might go as far as to call the gesture conjugal, though he didn't care much for the word.

“Well I couldn't have you moping and doping around forever. Probably woulda gotten annoying real quick.”

“Awwww,” Rhys teases. “You do care.” He gives Jack a faint peck on the cheek. “Maybe I should reward you later.”

“Now that's just the best idea I've heard all day.”

Rhys laughs quietly as their lips meet. Jack deepens the kiss slightly. Rhys stops a wandering hand from advancing down his back. “I said later,” he whispers.

“Aw, what's the matter, pumpkin? Don't want to give your little friends a show?*

“Absolutely not… Maybe if I get them out of the house.”

“How?”

“Give me your car keys.”

“Why?”

“I figure they’ll take awhile to move in.”

Jack suddenly releases Rhys from his arms. Rhys stumbles backwards.

“Woah-ho-ho… Hold up a minute. I don’t remember saying they could move in.”

“Where else are they supposed to go?”

“Wherever they’ve been hiding for a month!”

“Wow. So I’m just supposed to leave them freezing to death in a sheet metal shack?”

“Well there’s no law that says you have to- to…” Jack shivers at the warmth of Rhys’ breath licking his ear. “If you think this is going to make me change my mind-”

“Jaaaaaack.” Rhys coos his name softly. His arms snake around him from behind; his chin rests on his shoulder.  _ Temptress. “Jackie,  _ don't you care about me?” Rhys nuzzles against his neck. “Please, don't you want me to be happy?” He nibbles at Jack's ear as Jack contemplates his proposal. 

“I- No. Not that much.”

“What if… I let you fuck me-”

“Let me? And you complain you don't have the power in this relationship.”

“Hush.” Rhys puts a finger to Jack's lips. “I wasn't finished. One time, wherever you want, whenever you want.”

“Does what's definitely about to happen count?”

“No.”

“Hmmmmm… Wherever I want huh?”

“Yessir,” Rhys replies, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. 

“And you can't refuse?”

“Whatever you want,  _ darling _ .”  Rhys answers, nipping at his jawline. 

Jack groans. “Ugh, fine.”

“Thank you!” Rhys chimes, stealing the keys from his pocket.

Jack falls onto the bed defeatedly as Rhys strides downstairs. He lies there like a starfish, comparing his mind to the blank white ceiling overhead. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why?” he murmurs to himself. “Why? Why?  _ Why? _ ” He probably wasn’t the first person to be made an idiot by Rhys’ wiles, but that didn’t make him any less stupid. Rhys got his little indefinite slumber party, and a good fucking. What did he get from the deal though? Less living space, and more mouths to feed. “Great. Great!” 

“Are you talking to yourself? Didn’t know you were that kind of crazy. Thought you were more into the whole homicidal tendencies thing.” Rhys laughs at his own joke. 

“Wow. You’re so funny.”

“I think so.” He clicks his tongue as he starts to climb on top of Jack. “Whatever happened to the old Jack?” Rhys hums as he hovers over him. “So smart, so rich, so…  _ Hyperion _ .” He combs his hand through Jack's hair to punctuate his remark.

“Don't be so harsh, babe. I'm still at least one of those things.”

“Yeah, and it ain't rich.”

“Hey, not my fault you still got a big gay crush on me.” Jack glances down at Rhys’ lips as they come close enough to brush his.

“What can I say? I just happen to find a hardworking man  very,  _ very  _ sexy.” 

“Well then, I must be the hardest working man in town.”

Rhys’ lips curve into a slight smirk. “Then I'll just have to wear you out.” 

Rhys’ kisses are like a warm cup of tea. They always leave Jack’s muscles relaxed and his insides full. If he could he would capture them in a jar and save it for a rainy day. He hums against Rhys’ lips. 

“Mmmm, good morning, pumpkin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. That sucked. Sorry.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Such a different Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'm not dead. I'm just hurting a little.

At moments like this Jack wishes he could freeze time, just so he could lie there and hold Rhys in his arms. Everything could be immutably quiet and burdenless, just lazy lips and lazy thoughts mingling with content sighs and comfortable silences. Unfortunately, the future does not care what Jack wants. Any minute now Vaughn and Yvette will return to snatch Rhys away from him, however it isn't the sound of the car running that breaks his precious silence, but rather something Rhys says that doesn't quite register in his brain.

“What?”

“I said, let's get married.” 

Jack blacks out slightly less than the first time. “Rhys, babe… I'll admit it, okay? The homicidal tendencies thing- that was funny. You're funny.”

“I wasn't joking.”

“Oh come on cupcake. You know I'm not really the type for that.” Jack hopes he'll drop it there. He doesn't.

“Why not? You were married before.”

“Hence my previous remark.”

“I'm serious, Jack.”

“ _ Me too. _ I  _ seriously  _ think you should put more thought into what you're saying.” His palms are sweating like a sinner in church.

“I  _ have _ though. Think about it. We work together, we live together, eat together, sleep together, we're entrepreneur-ing together. Our lives are basically tied together anyway. Why not put a name to it?”

“You know, a demon loses its power when you give it a name.”

“I'm glad to hear you detect satanic undertones in our relationship.” Rhys pouts.

“You know that's not what I meant- though it is pretty sinful.” Rhys rolls away from him in a huff. “Ah dammit, Rhys. Don't be like that. Just think about it. How would you hide that one from your friends? What about earning yourself respect?” Rhys doesn't answer. “Fine. I'll think about it. Okay?” Rhys sighs hoarsely. “I think I hear my car. We need to get up.”

Rhys doesn't reply. He gathers his clothes from the floor and shuffles to the bathroom, slamming the door in Jack's face when he tries to follow. He emerges a few minutes later, glaring over his shoulder.

“Oh, so that's how it is.” Jack comments. Rhys ignores him and starts down the stairs. “I can play that game too!” Jack shouts after him. “I wrote the book on the silent treatment, kiddo!” Rhys waves over his shoulder. “Oh, you are gonna regret this one, sweetheart.” 

* * *

After Jack assures not a single hair is out of place he finds the trio in the kitchen, giggling about something or other. Probably a joke at Rhys’ expense, since he is the only one that doesn't seem to find whatever was said hilarious. Vaughn and Yvette go silent when they notice him standing there. Rhys folds his lone arm.

“You know I hate to break up the party, but I'm going to need old iron abs to come help me negotiate.” 

“Yep. Don't miss being called that,” Vaughn jokes. 

“Just take the compliment,” Jack snaps. Rhys’ eyes cut at him, as if he could slit his throat with just a look. Jack grins back innocently.

“So uh… Why do you want me?”

“Well you're an accountant right? And you're managing my employees for me. You must know something about handling my money. So I'm going to have a little chat with a potential seller, and I'm taking you with me.”

“Well if you think so-”

“Oh, I  _ know  _ so.” Jack leads Vaughn out the door with a hand on his shoulder. “Hasta pronto, ladies.” He winks at Rhys who returns a sneer. 

The moment they set foot outside Jack retreats into his austerity. He removes his hand from Vaughn's shoulder, and discards his smile almost immediately. Any eye contact he makes with Vaughn is by mistake, and for half an hour Vaughn can appreciate that. He quietly thanks the universe for not coercing him into the world championship of mental gymnastics that is holding a conversation with Jack, though after seeing nothing but sand outside his window for almost an hour he feels his brain could stand a few warm-up stretches. He clears his throat a few times to initiate a conversation, but Jack rebuffs all attempts. He resorts to simply glaring at Jack, wondering what Rhys could possibly see in this mechanical disaster of a person. 

“So…” he starts, “how long have you and Rhys been together?” 

Jack responds as if he were answering a math problem. “If Helios crashed six weeks a ago and we were both on it, then I'd say the answer is idiotically obvious.”

“That's not what I meant by together.”

“Well I ain't a mind reader.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Indulge me.” Jack deadpans through gritted teeth.

“How long have you two been involved?”

“Involved with what?” Jack feigns ignorance. Vaughn doesn't buy it for a second. 

“ _ Untoward _ things.”

“Still not sure what you're implying.”

Vaughn raises his voice, “I left my jacket on the counter and I’m asking you why it is that when I went back to get it this morning- I heard things that will haunt me for the rest of my life!”

“Oh, you heard that?” Vaughn thinks there may actually be a hint of embarrassment in Jack's voice, maybe just a skosh. “Fine. You wanna know how many times I've bent your best friend over and done things to him that would blow your stupid virginal mind. Why didn't you just ask? Cause let me tell ya, I could talk all goddamn day about how great it feels to have my dick in your tight ass co-worker.” Jack could stop there but he so enjoys the way Vaughn's face contorts at his words. “If you could just see his face, the one that goes with, ' _ ah,  _ **_Jack_ ** _. I need you so fucking badly’.”  _

“Oh my god I don't care!”

“You asked.”

Vaughn purses his lips for a moment. “You know he loves you right? Like, really loves you?”

Jack's smirk fades. “Sure he does.”

“I know him and I know how he takes to romance. He would die for you. I don't know why for you specifically, but he would. Do you get that? What makes you think you deserve that?” Jack doesn't respond. “What makes you think you deserve that?”

“What makes you think you deserve not to step the fuck off?!”

“LOOK OUT!”

Jack instinctively floors the break, bringing the wagon to a halt mere feet from a familiar girl in a yellow shirt and boots. He jumps out of the car. Vaughn follows.

“How ye doin?” the girl chimes.

“They Lord, child! What’n the hell are ye doin in the middle’uh the desert?”

“Huntin for junk!” she replies, proudly displaying the shards of glass, bottle caps, and random stones in her worn satchel. Vaughn isn't sure if he should be more perplexed by the items in the bag or the voice coming from Jack's mouth.

“Ye know how worried your Grammy's gotta be?”

“I reckon she don't know I'm here.”

“And how were ye fixin t’get back?”

“I figered I'd go that way and follow the river.”

“Ye shouldn't just trust a river, kiddo.”

“But I'm fixin to.”

“No ye ain't. Get in the car.”

She obeys his command, stomping every step of the way into the back. Jack starts the car as Vaughn looks on, mouth slightly agape.

“Why can't ye ever just be home durn the day?”

“Can't go inside,” she replies. “Grammy says theys pests in there.”

“I feel that,” Jack quips, glaring at Vaughn. 

“Grammy says we can't go in there cause they gotta fornicate et.”

“Ye mean fumigate et?”

“Ain't they the same?”

“Those ain't the same a-tall!”

“How not?”

“Ye ain't old enough t’know so I ain't gonna tell ye.”

Vaughn can't help but chuckle.

“What's funny?” Jack demands.

Vaughn's giggling escapes his control. “You're from here! You got angry and your accent slipped,” he teases.

“Whatuvit? Ye gotta-” Jack catches himself. “Do you take issue with that?” he over enunciates the question. 

Vaughn just laughs. “Does Rhys know about this?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m willing to bet my salary he hasn't heard you talk like that though.” 

“Betting your salary would imply I intend to pay you.”

Vaughn completely ignores the his remark.“He probably thinks you've magically transcended your heritage… What made you hate this place? It's gotta be something bad right?”

“I should have left you back there,” Jack grumbles. 

“Too bad you need me.”

“Yeah, sooner than you think. We're almost there.” 

“What are we going to do?”

“You mean what are _ you  _ gonna do?”

“You’re not coming with me?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“I think the buyer knows my face.”

“What?”

“Sell high.”

“What?! But I don't even know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“I just told you, do you need me to write it down for you or something?” 

“Um…” Vaughn tries to weigh which response will be of less consequence. “Yes?”

Jack groans as he reaches across Vaughn to retrieve a pen and paper from the glove box. Vaughn watches as Jack scrawls what may as well be hieroglyphs on a napkin and places it into his lap. 

“Just say this and you should be good.”

“Easier said than done,” Vaughn mumbles, examining the remote, unmarked brick building he is meant to enter. It reminds him of a grave, the grave of some unknown loser who was killed negotiating something he had no idea about. He takes one last look at the napkin, one last glance at Jack’s scowling face, and sets off reluctantly with the hope that Jack’s comment about his salary was a joke.

“Who was that?” the girl chimes, peaking over the seat. 

“Just an employee,” Jack sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Why’s he gotta problem with how we talk?” she asks, climbing over the armrest into the front seat. 

“I don’t know,” Jack replies. He glances down at her curious face with weary eyes. 

“Why don’t you like talkin like me?”

“Cause it ain’t- isn’t proper.”

“But it’s just how ye talk. T’ain’t anything bad.”

“I know it’s not, but- listen there are certain types of people, okay? And they think it does matter.”

“Like him?”

“Yeah… some people don’t care so much about what’s in here.” He pats the top of her head. “When you want to be around those people it’s just easier to pretend.”

“Oh.” She crinkles her nose in thought.

“By the way, don’t think this is gonna stop me from ratting you out to your Grammy, young lady.”

“I ain’t no lady!”

“Then maybe it’s about time you give me a name.”

She folds her arms. “It's Jo, not Joan, or Joanie.” She extends a small hand to shake his. 

He reciprocates her greeting. “Jack, not John or Johnny.” They sit in silence for a minute or two. Jack watches the door for Vaughn while Joan shuffles through her bag of scraps.

“What are you going to do with all that junk anyway?”

“Build stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

She shakes the bag of bric a brac, as if to read it like tea leaves. “All sorts,” she chirps.

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around all this time. <3 you folks.


End file.
